THE  MAN  OF  YESTERDAY 


"SHE  WAS  A  CHICKASAW  FOR  THE   HOUR"— PdgC   66 


THE  MAN 
OF    YESTERDAY 

A  Romance  of  a 
Vanishing  Race 

BY 

MARY   HOLLAND    KINKAID 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  COLOR  BY 
VOLNEY  A.  RICHARDSON 


NEW   YORK 

FREDERICK   A.  STOKES   COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 

TBag^JK   g.  «»_j        ^  «•».        o       n         <i  n       r'lgpgEaf 


Copyright,  1908,  by 
FREDERICK    A.  STOKES    COMPANY 


All  Rights  Reserved 
March,  1908 


To  the  Memory  of  My  Father 


202GSSO 


CONTENTS 
BOOK  I 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  SPRINGTIME     .........  13 

II.  MOMA  BINNA      ....     .     .     .     .  20 

III.  THE  DOGWOOD  CALENDAR  .....  28 

IV.  ARNOLD  STUART'S  MISSION 39 

V.  PAKALI  TELLS  A  STORY 50 

VI.  THE  RIDE  TO  WAUCHULA 57 

VII.  NEW  HOPES  AND  OLD  PREJUDICES       .     .  63 

VIII.  HATTAKOWA  SAYS  FAREWELL     ....  71 

IX.  A  GALA  DAY  AT  TISHOMINGO  ....  76 

X.  JOY  WAITS  BUT  AN  HOUR 86 

XI.  THE  LONG  JOURNEY 96 

XII.  FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER      .....  103 

XIII.  THE  LITTLE  CHIEFTAIN 109 

XIV.  CLOSING  THE  GATES      .*    ..    ...     .     .     .  115 

BOOK   II 

XV.  SUMMERTIME .  123 

XVI.  AN  EXPERIMENT  IN  FRIENDSHIP     .     .     .  130 

XVII.  THE  CYCLONE 135 

XVIII.  BLIKENS  MAKES  A  BARGAIN       ....  148 

XIX.  THE  CANDIDATE  FOR  GOVERNOR     .     .     .  159 

XX.  MARCH  AND  MAKES  A  VISIT       .     .     .     .  164 

XXI.  THE  CONTEST  FOR  POWER 172 

XXII.  THE  SIEGE  OF  THE  CAPITAL     ....  179 

XXIII.  DEFEAT 185 

XXIV.  MIKO'S  EDUCATION  BEGINS 189 

7 


8  CONTENTS 

BOOK   III 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

XXV.  AUTUMN 195 

XXVI.  HATTAKOWA  AT  MOMA  BINNA       .     .  205 

XXVII.  STUART  RETURNS  TO  THE  TERRITORY    .  211 

XXVIII.  MIKO  AND  His  NEW  FRIEND     .      .      .217 

XXIX.  HATTAKOWA  AND  STUART     ....  226 

XXX.  A  CHANCE  MEETING 232 

XXXI.  THE  PRICE  OF  FORGETFULNESS       .     .  242 

XXXII.  BEHIND  STONE  WALLS 248 

XXXIII.  THE  WAY  OF  A  WOMAN     ....  258 

XXXIV.  MARCHAND  OFFERS  AID      ....  266 
XXXV.  THE  LAW'S  DELAYS 271 

XXXVI.  MIKO  ASKS  QUESTIONS 277 

XXXVII.  RESPITE 285 

XXXVIII.  THE  HOUR  OF  CLEAR  VISION     ...  295 

XXXIX.  WAITING          303 

XL.  SUNSET 308 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"She  was  a  Chickasaw  for  the  hour"         .          .  Frontispiece 


FACING 
PAGE 


"I  wonder  if  Indian  maids  often  love  white  men  now"     .          54 

"One   solemn  moment  they  stood   there,   forgetting   all   the 

world" 314 


BOOK    I 


CHAPTER   I 

SPRINGTIME 

IT  was  springtime  in  the  Indian  Territory.  The  month 
was  March,  but  the  rolling  prairies  were  freshly  green  and 
the  low  mountains  were  newly  clothed  with  verdure.  Mock- 
ing birds  sang  in  the  trees  that  skirted  the  running  streams. 
The  cotton  fields  lay  brown  and  damp  after  the  early  plough- 
ing. The  roads,  deep  grooved  and  muddy,  were  so  nearly 
impassable  that  Tishomingo,  the  capital  of  the  Chickasaw 
Nation,  counted  not  a  stranger  among  its  few  inhabitants 
who  waited  impatiently  for  the  arrival  of  the  governor  and 
his  staff. 

In  the  last  decade  of  the  nineteenth  century  Tishomingo 
had  been  for  nearly  forty  years  the  Chickasaw  seat  of  govern- 
ment, but  it  had  grown  little  beyond  the  few  houses  built 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill  upon  which  the  capitol  was  erected 
the  year  after  the  Nation  had  purchased  its  independence 
from  the  Choctaws.  Far  removed  from  the  railways,  Tisho- 
mingo had  escaped  invasion  by  tourists  and  white  settlers. 
Shielded  by  low  mountains  the  village  lay  in  a  tiny  valley. 
Past  it  flowed  the  deep  and  turbulent  waters  of  Pennington 
Creek,  which,  at  its  source,  gushed  in  full  volume  from  the 
earth  and  then  hastened  with  many  a  curve  and  eddy  to  the 
Washita  River.  The  creek  had  worn  in  the  granite  rocks 
many  strange  nooks  and  pleasant  glens.  Here  and  there  it ' 
had  torn  away  mighty  boulders  and  chiselled  majestic  forms 
from  the  face  of  the  overhanging  cliffs. 

In  all  Indian  Territory  there  was  not  a  more  fertile  valley 
or  a  more  sheltered  spot  than  that  which  had  been  chosen 
as  the  sit?  of  Tishomingo.  When  George  Beaumont,  a 


i4  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

young  halfbreed,  had  come  hither  with  the  six  Chickasaws 
to  whom  had  been  entrusted  the  work  of  choosing  a  place 
for  the  meeting  of  the  legislature,  he  had  straightway  de- 
cided to  build  himself  a  cabin  high  up  on  a  rocky  ledge  over- 
looking the  creek.  This  cabin  had  expanded  into  a  long, 
rambling  house,  surrounded  by  broad  galleries.  The  old 
stone  chimney  still  served  for  the  fireplace  of  the  living  room, 
which  was  allowed  to  retain  much  of  the  primitive  character 
of  the  log  dwelling.  Other  chimneys  rose  at  intervals  on 
either  side  of  the  large  house,  which,  clapboarded  and  painted, 
enjoyed  the  distinction  of  being  one  of  the  most  imposing 
residences  in  the  Nation. 

From  the  front  gallery  of  this  house  a  young  girl,  looking 
through  an  archway  of  budding  vines,  beheld  the  coming 
of  the  springtime  to  the  quiet  valley.  She  was  leaning  against 
a  white  pillar  that  brought  out  the  rich  colour  of  her  dark 
complexion  and  emphasised  its  exquisite  tint.  The  face, 
lighted  by  large  eyes  with  a  haunting  steadfastness  of  gaze, 
had  a  delicacy  of  outline  and  a  regularity  of  feature  that 
betokened  a  fine  heredity.  Lounging  upon  the  steps  at  the 
girl's  feet  was  a  young  man,  broad-shouldered  and  deep- 
chested,  long  of  limb  and  strong  of  arm.  Like  his  com- 
panion he  had  a  dark  skin,  but  in  place  of  the  olive  his  face 
showed  a  deep  brown  that  was  burnished  by  exposure  to  the 
fierce  sun. 

"  You  are  silent,  Pakali,"  said  the  young  man.  "  It  seems 
that  you  have  little  to  say  to  me  since  your  return  from  that 
St.  Louis  school  this  last  time." 

He  spoke  in  full  tones  with  the  slightest  trace  of  a  gut- 
tural accent,  and  turned  to  her  a  face  the  strength  of  which 
was  emphasised  by  the  straight  lines  of  hair  brushed  back 
from  the  forehead. 

"  Have  I  been  different,  Joe?  "  the  girl  asked  with  a  note 
of  surprise  in  her  voice. 

"  Different?     Surely  you  must  know  that  you  have  been 


SPRINGTIME  15 

made  into  a  white  woman  with  .all  the  graces  and  all  the 
manners  that  belong  to  what  is  called  civilisation,"  the  man 
answered  slowly,  as  if  he  weighed  his  words.  "  You  do  not 
even  call  me  by  my  Indian  name.  I  suppose  you  wish  me 
to  address  you  as  Lenore,  or  perhaps  you  would  prefer 
Miss  Beaumont." 

Pakali  seated  herself  upon  the  step  and,  putting  a  slender 
hand  upon  her  accuser's  wrist,  answered  gently: 

"  You  will  always  be  my  old  playmate,  Hattak-Owa- 
Hushi-Osh,  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun.  I  called  you 
'  Joe  '  because  I  thought  it  seemed  foolish  for  us  to  cling  to 
any  of  our  Indian  customs  when  in  all  the  Nation,  your 
family  and  mine  are  almost  the  only  ones  that  try  to  per- 
petuate the  tribal  names." 

"  To  you  I  must  be  Hattakowa  or  nothing,"  the  man 
insisted.  "  Two  or  three  generations  back  my  grandmother, 
or  my  great-grandmother,  married  a  white  man,  and  I  have 
inherited  the  white  man's  name,  Joe  Dixon,  but  somehow 
I  feel  that  I  do  not  belong  to  this  halfbreed  race  of  Chicka- 
saws  and  Choctaws.  The  spirit  of  my  kinsman,  the  old 
A-push-a-ma-ta-hah,  is  often  in  me,  I  believe,  for  I  hate  the 
white  man's  ways." 

"  A-push-a-ma-ta-hah,  the  Choctaw  chief,  was  the  frien3 
of  the  white  man,"  Pakali  said  with  a  smile.  "  He  knew 
that  many  of  the  white  man's  ways  are  better  than  the  red 
man's  ways.  I  cannot  understand  why  you  rebel  against 
the  progress  of  our  race.  Dear  Hattakowa,  you  are  often 
unreasonable." 

"  Perhaps  I  am."  The  young  man  answered  smile  with 
smile.  "  The  truth  is,  Pakali,  that  I  am  unhappy  because, 
since  the  old  days  when  we  went  to  the  Boggy  Depot  school 
together,  you  have  become  so  much  wiser  than  I  that  I  can 
no  longer  touch  your  heart  with  any  words  of  mine.  I  can 
speak  only  of  the  common  things  of  life.  Once  you  loved 
the  forest  lore,  and  you  liked  to  hear  of  the  hunt.  You 


16  THE   MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

listened  long  to  the  legends  handed  down  from  that  far-off 
time  before  the  white  man  came  to  steal  our  country  from  us. 
Now  when  I  am  with  you  there  is  often  a  stillness  while 
you  search  for  some  speech  that  means  nothing." 

"  We  are  boy  and  girl  no  longer.  It  is  natural  we  should 
find  each  other  changed."  Pakali  dropped  her  eyes  beneath 
the  searching  gaze  of  Hattakowa,  who  waited  a  moment  be- 
fore he  spoke  again. 

"  Since  you  came  home  I  have  reasoned  about  our  relation 
to  each  other,"  he  said,  looking  away  from  her,  and  with 
an  effort  steadying  his  voice.  "  I  have  found  out  that  Pakali, 
the  Flower,  has  become  to  me,  Aiahnichih-Choyoh,  a  woman 
to  prefer  above  all  others."  Having  spoken  he  turned  again 
to  her  and  he  saw  the  red  blood  dye  her  cheek. 

"  Hush,  Hattakowa.  Make  no  more  gallant  speeches," 
Pakali  made  haste  to  answer. 

"  You  know  I  am  still  so  much  a  savage  that  I  cannot  lie 
to  a  woman,"  he  retorted,  as  an  angry  light  came  into  his 
eyes.  "  I  have  loved  you  always,  ever  since  we  were  poor, 
lonely  little  children,  who  walked  miles  together  to  that 
terrible  school  Uncle  Sam  had  sold  to  a  cruel  Yankee.  Yet 
that  school,  where  we  were  abused  so  shamefully,  is  the  only 
one  I  ever  liked.  The  Texas  college,  where  they  gave  me 
what  is  called  an  education,  is  said  to  be  a  pleasant  place, 
but  I  hated  the  years  of  confinement  there.  I  know  now 
that  I  missed  you  every  day,  and  that  even  in  the  first  year 
I  dreaded  the  discovery  I  have  made  since  you  came  back 
to  Tishomingo." 

"  What  discovery  have  you  made?  "  Pakali  inquired  with 
a  challenge  in  her  voice. 

"  You  and  I,  who  mingle  in  our  veins  the  blood  of  the 
white  man  and  the  red  man,  must  give  allegiance  to  one 
race  or  the  other.  You  have  risen  to  the  white  man's  stand- 
ard, and  I  have  answered  to  the  backward  call.  You  are  an 
American,  I  am  an  Indian." 


SPRINGTIME  17 

Hattakowa  left  his  seat  beside  Pakali  and  paced  up  and 
down  the  wide  path  which  led  from  the  house  to  the  road 
along  the  ledge  that  overlooked  the  creek  and  the  village 
beyond.  The  girl  was  quiet  for  several  moments,  and  then 
when  Hattakowa  came  near  to  her  in  his  restless  walk  she 
stopped  him. 

"  Surely,  you  do  not  think  me  disloyal  to  my  people," 
she  said,  with  a  little  quiver  of  the  lip.  "  I  am  proud  of  every 
drop  of  my  Indian  blood.  Always  I  have  remembered  that 
'  I  am  a  Chickasaw  '  was  the  highest  boast  of  my  warrior 
ancestors." 

"  And  I  can  add  to  the  Chickasaw  watchword  '  Chahtah- 
siah/  "  Hattakowa  answered. 

"  Yes,  you  are  a  Choctaw-Chickasaw  and  more  Indian 
than  I.  Perhaps  that  is  the  reason  you  are  inclined  to  judge 
me  severely."  The  girl  rose,  and  walking  beside  him  added : 
"  All  of  us  Chickasaws  and  Choctaws  are  as  one  family. 
Because  I  have  passed  many  years  in  the  white  man's  school 
the  ties  of  kindred  are  not  loosened." 

"  I  love  you  with  a  love  that  is  above  the  feeling  of  kin- 
ship. I  love  you  with  the  great  love  that  covets  you,"  the 
man  replied.  "  Through  my  boyhood  and  youth  you  have 
always  been  in  my  heart.  You  need  not  tell  me  that  you  will 
never  be  the  Star  Woman  who  rules  my  destiny,  for  a  power 
above  you  has  made  you  that." 

Pakali  clasped  her  hands  together  and  her  bosom  rose  as 
if  she  were  choking  back  her  sobs. 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  cause  you  pain,  Pakali.  You  need  not 
tell  me  that  you  never  can  belong  to  my  home.  I  know  what 
you  would  say.  There  is  between  us  a  chasm  greater  than 
any  Pennington  has  cleft  in  the  rocks,  for  I  am  an  Indian 
and  you  are  almost  a  white  woman." 

They  were  standing  at  the  end  of  the  path  whence  they 
could  look  down  the  road  which  wound  up  from  the  village. 
Before  Pakali  could  find  words  with  which  to  soften  the 


1 8  THE   MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

truth  spoken  by  Hattakowa,  he  called  her  attention  to  the 
approach  of  two  horsemen. 

"  Your  father  is  bringing  a  stranger  home  with  him,"  he 
said. 

Pakali  glanced  down  the  road.  Then,  impulsively,  she 
gave  both  her  hands  to  Hattakowa,  who  held  them  for  a 
moment,  while  his  heart  swelled  with  the  rising  tide  of  his 
great  passion. 

"  Hattakowa,  we  have  been  foolish  in  trying  to  under- 
stand ourselves,"  Pakali  said,  brushing  away  a  tear.  "  You 
know  as  long  as  I  live  I  shall  need  your  friendship." 

"  As  long  as  I  live  you  will  have  more  than  friendship 
from  me." 

The  two  horsemen  came  near.  George  Beaumont,  Pakali's 
father,  rode  ahead  of  the  stranger.  Seated  upon  his  ornately 
carved  Mexican  saddle  he  showed  that,  despite  a  growing 
stoutness,  he  retained  much  of  his  youthful  vigour.  His 
long  hair,  untouched  by  grey,  fell  about  his  ears.  He  was 
a  halfbreed  who  retained  the  colour  of  the  fullblood.  Be- 
neath bushy  brows,  keen  eyes  looked  out  with  a  restless 
glance.  In  repose  the  face  was  stern,  and  across  the  left 
cheek  a  long  scar  made  by  a  knife-cut  bore  witness  to  at 
least  one  fight  for  his  life.  Like  most  Indians  he  was  beard- 
less. When  he  smiled  upon  his  daughter  his  grave  face 
softened  so  that  the  stranger,  who  had  reined  his  horse, 
gained  an  added  confidence  in  his  new  friend.  Beaumont 
said: 

"  Pakali,  I  found  a  traveller  lost  in  the  mud  of  Tisho- 
mingo.  Let  me  introduce  Mr.  Stuart  of  Chicago." 

The  stranger  was  on  the  ground  in  an  instant.  He  bowed 
very  low  before  the  girl,  who  saw  that  the  white  man  was 
young  and  good-looking. 

"  Mr.  Stuart,  my  distant  kinsman,  Mr.  Dixon,"  said 
Beaumont,  who  had  dismounted  with  a  slowness  that  showed 
his  weight  was  troublesome.  Hattakowa  and  the  stranger 


SPRINGTIME  19 

shook  hands.  The  Indian  gazed  upon  the  white  man  with 
forbidding  hauteur.  Stuart's  corduroy  costume,  with  cart- 
ridge belt  and  pistols  in  plain  sight,  aroused  the  Indian's 
contempt,  although  the  corduroys  clothed  an  athletic  body. 
The  stranger  belonged  to  the  extreme  Saxon  type.  His 
closely-cropped  light  hair  waved  where  it  was  parted  near 
the  middle  of  the  forehead.  His  fair  skin  was  slightly  in- 
clined to  ruddiness.  He  wore  glasses  to  help  the  sight  of 
blue  eyes,  deep  in  colour,  clear  and  well  set.  A  small  mous- 
tache hid  the  outline  of  lips,  full  and  firmly  closed.  A  cleft 
chin  weakened  a  face  that  suggested  good  humour  and  frank- 
ness. 

"  Lem!  Pete!  Si!  Isn't  there  a  nigger  on  the  place  to 
take  these  horses?  "  called  Beaumont  in  tones  that  aroused 
the  servants  in  the  whitewashed  quarters  back  of  the  house. 
Two  black  boys  ran  across  the  wide,  stony  space  that  ex- 
tended beyond  the  little  patch  of  green  lawn.  Their  master 
scolded  them,  and  then  tossed  each  a  quarter  as  he  led  the 
way  to  the  house.  At  the  front  door  there  waited  a  slender 
little  white  woman  of  middle  age.  She  had  a  stately  car- 
riage and  a  sweet  dignity. 

"  Welcome  to  Tishomingo,"  said  Mrs.  Beaumont,  ex- 
tending a  delicate  hand  to  the  stranger. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  were  intruding  upon  your  hospitality,"  said 
Stuart. 

"  This  is  Moma  Binna,  a  lodge  for  all,"  answered  his 
hostess.  "  It  is  our  privilege  to  give  you  welcome." 


CHAPTER   II 
MOMA   BINNA 

THE  large  living  room  of  Moma  Binna  retained  the  mud- 
chinked  log  walls  that  marked  the  boundaries  of  Beaumont's 
pioneer  cabin,  but  they  were  almost  hidden  beneath  bright 
blankets,  skilfully  tanned  deer  skins,  and  feathered  war- 
bonnets,  collected  by  the  owner  from  the  wild  tribes  of  Okla- 
homa. Over  the  high  mantel  shelf  on  the  stone  chimney 
hung  a  buffalo  head,  and  there  was  a  gun  rack  in  one  corner. 
Several  splint-bottomed  rockers  and  a  number  of  straight 
chairs  with  seats  made  of  cowhide  thongs  were  drawn  up 
near  the  hearth  upon  which  blazed  a  log  fire.  The  heat  was 
pleasant  in  the  chill  of  the  early  spring  evening.  A  shaded 
lamp,  placed  in  the  centre  of  a  large,  round  table,  shed  a  glow 
that,  even  when  mingled  with  the  firelight,  failed  to  illumi- 
nate the  distant  corners  of  the  high-raftered  ceiling. 

Into  this  living  room  Mrs.  Beaumont  ushered  her  guest, 
who  could  not  disguise  his  quick  scrutiny  of  the  interior  of 
the  house,  for  folding  doors  revealed  a  handsomely  furnished 
parlour,  in  which  burned  a  second  open  fire. 

"  Is  supper  about  ready?"  asked  Beaumont,  seating  him- 
self upon  a  wooden  settle  while  a  negro  boy  took  off  his 
spurs.  "  We  are  as  hungry  as  wolves." 

Mrs.  Beaumont  gave  assurance  that  the  bell  would  ring 
in  a  few  minutes.  Calling  a  neat  mulatto  maid,  she  di- 
rected that  Stuart  be  taken  to  a  room  on  the  south  gallery. 
Pakali  and  Hattakowa  went  into  the  parlour,  where  they 
stood  before  the  fire. 

"  You  are  frowning,  Hattakowa,"  said  Pakali.  "  You 
act  as  if  you  wished  the  stranger  had  not  come." 

20 


MOMA    BINNA  21 

"  I  do  not  like  him,"  answered  Hattakowa.  "  Something 
tells  me  he  will  bring  trouble  to  Moma  Binna." 

"  Did  you  see  a  crow  flying  over  his  head?  Or  did 
the  dogs  of  Tishomingo  howl,  as  he  came  up  the  hill?" 
Pakali  asked  the  questions  with  a  smile.  "  Hattakowa, 
you  are  trying  to  be  too  much  an  Indian  when  you  pretend 
to  be  superstitious." 

"  You  know  I  am  what  you  call  superstitious,"  Hatta- 
kowa answered.  "  My  mother  keeps  me  watching  all  the 
signs  that  used  to  guide  the  old  squaws,  and  many  of  them 
I  have  found  full  of  meaning." 

"  I  like  the  stranger's  looks,"  declared  Pakali,  and,  when 
she  saw  that  Hattakowa  set  his  lips  as  if  her  words  hurt 
him,  she  went  to  the  piano.  Touching  the  keys,  softly  she 
began  to  play,  and  presently,  looking  over  her  shoulder,  she 
saw  that  there  was  no  longer  any  resentment  in  the  grave 
face  of  the  man  who  loved  her. 

The  supper  gong  rang  twice  before  the  stranger  came 
into  the  parlour  where  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Beaumont  were  wait- 
ing with  Pakali  and  Hattakowa.  When  Stuart  crossed 
the  threshold  he  showed  some  embarrassment,  for  he  noticed 
that  his  host  had  made  a  change  of  clothing,  and  that  the 
younger  Indian  wore  a  well-cut  coat  and  immaculate  linen. 
Mrs.  Beaumont's  silk  gown  rustled  as  she  turned  to  greet 
her  guest. 

"  I  must  apologise  for  my  corduroys,"  Stuart  said.  "  I 
did  not  expect  to  need  much  luggage  down  here  in  the 
Territory." 

Beaumont  laughed  good-naturedly. 

"  You  thought  we  wore  war  paint  in  summer  and  red 
blankets  in  winter,  didn't  you?  "  he  replied.  "  Well,  we  are 
accustomed  to  the  Easterner's  ideas  that  we  are  still  savages." 

"  We  have  had  visitors  who  asked  to  see  the  family  toma- 
hawk," Pakali  remarked,  lifting  her  pretty  head  proudly 
and  showing  her  even  teeth  in  a  smile  that  was  half 


22 

disdainful.  She  wore  a  white  gown  of  soft  material 
which  brought  out  her  rich  colouring,  and,  even  to  a  man's 
eye,  it  was  evident  that  the  costume  was  costly  and  fashion- 
able. 

A  negro  boy,  in  white  coat  and  apron,  threw  open  the  door 
into  the  dining-room.  When  the  party  was  seated  at  a  wide 
table  Stuart's  attention  was  first  attracted  to  a  profusion 
of  silver,  oddly  chased  in  a  design  of  water  lilies.  A  great 
bowl  filled  with  crocuses  occupied  the  centre  of  the  damask 
cloth.  Large  china  plates  were  heaped  with  hot  biscuits, 
and  an  immense  platter  was  laden  with  fried  chicken.  The 
negro  boy  served  the  food  deftly,  and  Stuart,  who  prided 
himself  upon  his  correctness  of  dress  and  manner,  felt  un- 
comfortable in  his  rough  clothing,  even  though  his  host  and 
hostess  exercised  the  most  delicate  tact.  Hattakowa,  who 
sat  opposite  him,  was  moody  and  silent.  The  flash  of  a 
brilliant  ruby,  set  in  an  odd  gold  ring,  drew  the  stranger's 
attention  to  the  young  Indian's  well-shaped  hand.  Again 
and  again  Stuart  found  himself  gazing  at  the  ring,  and  once 
or  twice  Hattakowa,  detecting  his  frequent  glances,  gave 
him  an  unfriendly  look. 

"  Eastern  men  know  little  about  this  part  of  the  country," 
Stuart  said,  apologetically.  "  When  my  friend,  a  congress- 
man from  one  of  our  middle  western  States,  suggested  that 
I  should  come  down  here  to  gather  statistics  for  him,  I  was 
glad  of  the  mission  because  I  imagined  I  might  have  a  taste 
of  life  in  tents  and  tepees." 

"  You  are  more  than  half  a  century  too  late  to  behold  us 
of  the  Five  Nations  in  our  barbaric  state.  The  mission- 
aries helped  to  civilise  us  Chickasaws  and  Choctaws  long 
before  we  left  Mississippi,"  Beaumont  replied. 

"  I  liked  the  missionary  work  here  in  the  Territory  so  well 
that  I  decided  to  devote  my  entire  life  to  one  Indian,"  added 
Mrs.  Beaumont,  pausing  to  look  over  the  silver  teapot  from 
which  she  was  pouring  a  steaming  draught. 


MOMA    BINNA  23 

"  Mother  has  become  a  thorough  Chickasaw,"  explained 
Pakali.  "  Not  even  Hattakowa  is  more  proud  of  our  tribal 
traditions." 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Beaumont's  chief  regret  is  that  she  has  no 
house  name  to  bequeath  to  Pakali,"  Mr.  Beaumont  an- 
nounced in  jesting  tones. 

"  House  name?  "  questioned  the  stranger. 

"  According  to  the  old  Chickasaw  custom  the  children  of 
a  family  inherited  the  house  name  of  the  mother  instead  of 
that  of  the  father."  Beaumont  picked  up  a  silver  salver  and 
pointed  to  the  engraved  border. 

"  My  mother's  house  name  was  Poncha-Toula,  which 
meant  water  lily.  According  to  the  old  order  of  things  it 
would  come  down  to  me,  but  since  we  are  civilised  I  bear 
the  name  of  a  French  forefather,  George  Beaumont." 

"  Mr.  Stuart  probably  will  miss  some  of  the  luxuries  of 
civilisation  here  in  the  Territory,"  Hattakowa  said  when  the 
servant  had  removed  the  plates  and  had  passed  dishes  con- 
taining fruits  and  cakes.  "  The  white  man  has  deprived  the 
Indian  of  o-ka  humma,  the  fire  water  that  my  people  love 
too  well." 

"Can't  you  buy  any  liquor  in  the  Territory?"  Stuart 
asked  in  surprise. 

"  No,  the  government  puts  a  heavy  penalty  upon  the  sale 
of  any  intoxicating  beverage,"  explained  Beaumont;  "but 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  whisky  smuggled  in  from  Texas, 
and  even  from  prohibition  Kansas." 

"  The  drug  stores  do  an  immense  business  in  patent  medi- 
cines," commented  Hattakowa.  "  We  have  many  chronic 
invalids — most  of  them  white  men — who  buy  remedies  which 
contain  alcohol." 

Stuart  studied  Hattakowa's  face,  which  was  hard  to  read. 
Again  the  ring  flashed  as  the  brown  left  hand  was  raised  to 
push  back  a  long  lock  of  hair. 

"  It  was  a  disappointment  to  me  to  find  that  the  Governor 


24  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

of  the  Chickasaws  does  not  live  in  Tishomingo,"  the 
stranger  remarked  presently.  "  I  suppose  it  will  be  impossi- 
ble to  get  at  any  of  the  records  of  the  Nation  unless  he  is 
here." 

"  All  our  officials  live  upon  their  farms,  or  ranches,"  Beau- 
mont  said.  "  The  capitol  is  locked  a  greater  part  of  the 
time,  for  the  business  of  the  Nation  is  not  often  urgent. 
But  the  Governor  comes  to  Tishomingo  at  least  once  in 
three  months." 

"  While  you  are  waiting  for  the  Governor  you  will  have 
time  to  learn  something  about  Chickasaw  ways."  It  was 
Mrs.  Beaumont  who  spoke.  "  I  am  always  desirous  that 
Eastern  visitors  shall  have  a  chance  to  know  the  Indians  of 
the  Territory." 

"  It  hurts  Little  Mother's  feelings  to  have  us  classed  as 
savages,"  said  Pakali,  who  had  taken  small  part  in  the  con- 
versation. Her  manner  was  one  of  deference  to  her  parents, 
to  whom  she  accorded  the  privilege  of  monopolising  their 
guest's  attention. 

"  You  must  ride  about  the  country  as  soon  as  the  mud 
dries,"  her  father  remarked  hospitably.  "  We  have  some 
good  horses  here  at  Moma  Binna,  although  we  do  not  say 
much  about  our  stables  when  Hattakowa  is  with  us." 

"  Hattakowa  has  the  fastest  horses  in  the  whole  Ter- 
ritory," Pakali  said  with  much  enthusiasm. 

"  I  shall  be  pleased  to  show  you  over  my  place."  Hatta- 
kowa saw  that  he  was  expected  to  extend  an  invitation  to 
Stuart,  and  he  gave  it  with  ill-concealed  reluctance. 

Mrs.  Beaumont  rose  from  the  table  and  passed  into  the 
living  room.  There  she  directed  a  servant  to  bring  pipes 
and  cigars  from  a  cupboard  which  projected  from  the  log 
wall. 

"  Our  men  always  smoke  here,"  she  said.  She  motioned 
Stuart  to  one  of  the  rocking  chairs  and  Pakali  put  before 
him  a  finely  woven  flat  basket  which  held  cigars.  Beaumont, 


MOMA   BINNA  25 

half  reclining  upon  a  well-worn  leather  sofa,  lighted  a  pipe. 
Hattakowa  leaned  against  the  high  mantel  shelf.  When 
Pakali  brought  the  cigars  to  him  he  declined  them. 

The  girl  drew  a  wooden  stool  to  the  hearth.  "  If  you 
have  no  objection  I  shall  stay  here,"  she  said.  "  I  always 
like  the  after  supper  talks  with  father." 

The  stranger  expressed  his  pleasure  in  her  company  so 
effusively  that  Hattakowa  scowled  at  him  and  a  constraint 
fell  upon  the  little  group.  During  one  of  the  pauses  in  the 
conversation  the  young  Indian's  ring,  upon  which  the  fire 
played,  concentrated  the  stranger's  attention  so  insistently 
that  almost  before  he  thought  of  what  he  was  saying  Stuart 
spoke  of  the  gem. 

"  Mr.  Dixon,  may  I  see  your  ring?  "  he  asked.  "  It  is 
so  unusual  in  colour  and  setting  that  I  want  to  examine  it." 

Hattakowa  did  not  offer  to  remove  the  ring  from  his 
finger.  He  simply  held  his  hand  near  the  lamp  where  the 
pale  yellow  gold  of  the  setting  and  the  depth  of  the  stone 
could  be  seen. 

"  It  is  a  ruby  of  great  beauty.     I  covet  it,"  said  Stuart. 

The  Indian  snatched  his  hand  away.  Proudly  he  drew 
himself  to  his  full  height. 

"  This  is  not  one  of  the  beads  the  white  man  can  buy 
from  the  red  man,"  he  replied. 

The  stranger  made  a  quick  apology.  Hattakowa  gave  but 
scant  acknowledgment.  The  Indian  soon  requested  the 
privilege  of  calling  for  a  servant  to  bring  his  horse. 

"  You  are  not  going  home  to-night,"  insisted  Mrs. 
Beaumont,  but  Hattakowa  would  not  be  persuaded  to  stay. 
He  found  his  hat,  which  hung  upon  a  pair  of  antlers.  Lem, 
the  negro  boy,  came  into  the  room,  and,  kneeling  before 
Hattakowa,  buckled  on  a  pair  of  leggins.  The  young 
Indian  commanded  the  servant  to  carry  his  saddlebags 
from  a  distant  bedroom.  Then  he  said  good-night. 

Pakali  followed  him  out  upon  the  gallery. 


26  THE    MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

"  Come  again  soon,  very  soon,  Hattakowa,"  she  called 
as  he  vaulted  into  the  saddle. 

At  the  sound  of  her  soft  southern  voice,  Hattakowa 
wheeled  his  horse,  jumped  to  the  ground,  and  was  at  her 
side  in  a  moment. 

"  Pakali,  to-day  I  told  you  that  I  love  you.  Will  you 
not  let  me  kiss  you  upon  your  lips?  "  he  begged. 

The  girl  trembled  before  him,  for  she  felt  a  power  in  the 
man  that  made  her  afraid.  She  did  not  answer.  She  looked 
up  into  his  face  with  questioning  eyes. 

"  See  how  my  love  humbles  me,"  he  said.  "  It  is  my 
nature  to  take  by  force  what  I  crave,  yet  I  stand  here  before 
you  pleading  that  you  will  permit  me  to  touch  your  lips. 
Let  the  first  kiss  you  give  to  any  man  be  mine,  Pakali,  and 
in  the  years  to  come  I  will  pay  for  it." 

Hattakowa  held  out  his  arms  to  her,  and,  swayed  by  his 
earnestness,  Pakali  lifted  her  face  to  his.  He  drew  her  to 
him  and,  holding  her  close  to  his  heart,  kissed  her.  Gently 
he  put  her  from  him  and  went  away,  leaving  her  strangely 
agitated.  She  stood  motionless  until  she  was  aroused  by 
her  mother's  voice. 

"  Mr.  Stuart  is  worried  for  fear  he  has  offended  Hatta- 
kowa, and  I  want  you  to  tell  him  the  story  of  the  ring," 
Mrs.  Beaumont  said,  when  Pakali  had  returned  to  the 
living  room. 

The  girl  sought  a  seat  in  the  shadow  of  the  deep  chimney, 
and,  in  an  unsteady  voice,  protested  that  her  father  knew 
the  story  better  than  anyone  else. 

"  The  ruby  is  an  heirloom,"  Beaumont  said,  refilling  his 
pipe.  "  It  came  to  Hattakowa  from  his  great  uncle  Apush- 
amatahah,  the  illustrious  Choctaw  chief.  The  ring  has  a 
queer  history,  for  it  was  a  gift  from  Edwin  Forrest,  the  tra- 
gedian. It  appears  that  when  Forrest  was  less  than  twenty 
years  old  he  was  playing  in  New  Orleans,  where  he  fell 
in  love  with  the  company's  leading  lady,  Miss  Placide.  It 


MOMA   BINNA  27 

was  a  desperate  infatuation,  and  the  ardent  young  suitor  had 
a  celebrated  goldsmith  make  the  ring  that  was  to  be  the  token 
of  betrothal.  Miss  Placide  refused  the  actor's  heart  and  his 
ruby.  Then  Forrest  sought  to  hide  his  grief  in  the  woods. 
He  made  a  friend  of  Apushamatahah  and  he  fled  to  the  In- 
dian lodge  in  the  wilderness  of  Mississippi,  where  he  passed 
part  of  the  summer  of  1825.  When  he  went  away  he  gave 
the  old  chief  the  ruby,  which  is  said  to  bring  ill  luck  in  love 
to  all  who  possess  it." 

"  I  am  glad  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  own  it  then,"  Stuart 
asserted  with  emphasis,  glancing  involuntarily  toward 
Pakali's  corner. 

Mrs.  Beaumont  rang  for  lights;  and,  after  candles,  placed 
in  silver  candlesticks,  had  been  brought,  she  and  Pakali  said 
good-night. 


CHAPTER    III 

THE   DOGWOOD    CALENDAR 

STUART  was  awakened  the  next  morning  by  the  blowing 
of  a  wind  that  rocked  the  house.  It  was  some  time  before 
he  could  remember  just  where  he  was  and  he  lay  lazily  in 
the  big  oak  bedstead,  whence  he  looked  about  the  well-fur- 
nished guest  room  of  Moma  Binna.  His  one  candle  had 
lighted  the  chamber  but  dimly  the  night  before,  and  a  picture 
that  he  had  not  then  noticed  caught  his  eye.  It  was  a  large 
crayon  portrait  of  Pakali,  and  had  been  made  when  she  was 
a  child.  The  man  studied  the  features,  which  were  drawn 
with  the  hard  lines  employed  by  the  artist  of  little  skill,  yet 
even  the  indifferent  portrait  showed  the  blending  of  two 
antagonistic  races.  The  eyes  had  the  solemn  gaze  that  marks 
the  Indian,  and  the  corners  of  the  mouth  drooped  with  the 
serious  curve  which  gives  the  look  of  sadness  to  the  faces  of 
the  descendants  of  the  North  American  aborigines.  The 
hair  was  parted  and  hung  in  two  braids  that  fell  upon  the 
sloping  shoulders.  The  Pakali  whom  the  white  man  had 
seen  the  evening  before  gave  little  hint  of  her  descent  from 
a  savage  people,  but  in  the  strangely  prophetic  way  in  which 
an  infant  face  will  sometimes  foretell  the  adult  character- 
istics, Pakali's  portrait  suggested  tragedy. 

Lem,  who  came  in  to  build  a  fire  upon  the  big  andirons, 
interrupted  Stuart's  speculations  concerning  the  Indian  girl. 
The  negro  boy  placed  a  pitcher  of  hot  water  upon  the  stand 
and  asked  if  he  could  black  "  massa's  "  shoes.  Stuart  was 
again  brought  to  an  unpleasant  remembrance  of  the  limita- 
tions of  his  wardrobe.  He  sent  away  his  one  pair  of  boots 
with  the  injunction  that  they  should  be  returned  to  him 

28 


THE   DOGWOOD    CALENDAR  29 

immediately,  and,  after  he  had  dressed  hastily,  he  wrote  a 
note  ordering  a  trunkful  of  clothes  to  be  sent  to  him  with- 
out delay. 

Breakfast  was  announced  by  Lem  before  Stuart  was 
ready,  and  in  the  dining  room  the  stranger  found  two  guests 
waiting  with  the  family.  Mrs.  Beaumont  introduced  him 
to  Virginia  Mattison,  an  Indian  girl  about  Pakali's  age,  but 
of  a  much  more  pronounced  Chickasaw  type,  and  to  her 
brother,  Cole  Mattison,  a  stalwart  young  man  with  a  skin 
darker  than  that  of  the  mulatto  boy  who  stood  behind  Mrs. 
Beaumont's  chair.  Looking  intently  at  Pakali  when  she 
gave  him  a  cordial  good-morning,  Stuart  thought  he  saw 
her  lineage  written  upon  her  face,  which  was  fascinating  in 
its  sweetness  and  freshness.  The  girl  wore  a  red  cloth 
waist,  and  the  colour,  so  much  in  favour  among  barbaric  peo- 
ples, made  more  striking  her  peculiar  beauty.  She  turned  to 
speak  to  one  of  her  guests,  and  he  noticed  the  symmetrical  out- 
lines of  her  small  head  upon  which  the  heavy  black  hair 
was  arranged  with  the  simplicity  of  unconscious  art.  The 
soft  tresses  were  parted  in  the  middle  and  drawn  loosely  back 
to  the  crown  of  the  head,  where  the  shining  coils  were 
caught  with  an  amber  comb. 

The  servant  brought  a  Bible  to  Mrs.  Beaumont,  who  read 
a  chapter,  after  which  all  knelt  while  she  prayed.  The 
stranger  from  civilisation  was  little  accustomed  to  religious 
observances,  and  he  dropped  awkwardly  to  his  knees.  His 
thoughts  wandered  while  his  hostess  offered  a  few  simple 
petitions  for  divine  guidance. 

Breakfast  was  a  merry  meal,  for  Virginia  Mattison  had 
a  vivacious  wit.  She  paid  little  attention  to  the  presence 
of  the  stranger.  The  brother  and  sister  had  been  passing  a 
fortnight  in  the  Choctaw  Nation,  and  they  had  much  to  say 
about  the  consternation  among  the  fullbloods  who  had  heard 
the  rumour  that  the  United  States  would  soon  apportion  the 
land  held  in  common  by  Indian  citizens. 


30  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

"  The  apportionment  cannot  come  any  too  soon  to  please 
me,"  declared  Cole  Mattison.  "  I  am  tired  of  being  a  ward 
of  Uncle  Sam." 

"  Don't  be  too  impatient,  young  man,"  cautioned  Beau- 
mont. "  You  may  be  sure  that  the  Indians  somehow  will 
get  the  worst  of  it  when  Uncle  Sam  begins  to  divide  the 
property  he  bestowed  upon  the  Five  Nations  to  be  held  by 
them,  according  to  the  terms  of  the  treaty,  '  As  long  as 
water  runs  and  grass  grows.'  ' 

"  Don't  you  want  to  hold  your  property  in  your  own 
name?  "  inquired  Stuart. 

Beaumont's  face  assumed  a  stern  look. 

"  My  young  friend  touches  me  upon  a  sore  spot,"  he  said. 
"  I  have  seen  the  corruption  of  the  government  representa- 
tives sent  here  to  the  Territory  for  too  many  years  to  believe 
that  we  Indians  can  receive  anything  like  justice  when  our 
tribal  inheritance  is  apportioned  to  us." 

Stuart  moved  in  his  chair  uneasily.  He  had  a  guilty  feel- 
ing that  he  might  be  abusing  the  Indian's  hospitality,  inas- 
much as  his  mission  had  a  direct  bearing  upon  the  future 
allotment  of  lands.  His  patron,  the  congressman,  was  a 
man  who  could  look  a  long  way  ahead,  and,  while  the  states- 
man had  not  explained  his  exact  reason  for  wanting  informa- 
tion gleaned  from  the  records  of  the  Five  Nations,  it  was 
quite  certain  it  would  not  be  used  in  a  manner  altogether 
philanthropic.  The  congressman  had  not  made  a  reputation 
for  unselfish  statesmanship.  Fortunately  Virginia  turned 
the  conversation  away  from  a  subject  that  suggested  possible 
embarrassment. 

"  I  want  you  all  to  come  to  Wauchula  for  our  big 
church  fair.  It  wouldn't  be  a  success  without  Mrs.  Beau- 
mont, and  none  of  you  can  make  any  acceptable  excuses,"  she 
declared  decidedly.  "  We  have  arranged  it  so  that  Pakali 
is  to  have  the  Tishomingo  booth,  and  Mr.  Beaumont  is  to 
serve  as  the  auctioneer  of  Indian  relics." 


THE    DOGWOOD    CALENDAR  31 

"Where  will  you  get  your  Indian  relics?"  asked  Beau- 
mont, with  a  laugh  that  shook  his  heavy  body. 

"  Oh,  the  relics  are  going  to  be  jokes,"  Virginia  explained. 
"  We'll  collect  some  worn  out  ready-made  suits  of  clothes, 
some  tin  cans,  and  empty  whisky  flasks." 

"  Don't  jest  upon  such  a  serious  subject,  Virginia,"  said 
Mrs.  Beaumont,  shaking  her  head.  "  What  can  you  have 
in  your  relic  booth  ?  " 

"  Remnants  of  broken  treaties  with  our  white  brothers," 
suggested  Beaumont. 

"  Never  mind,  we  shall  have  something  for  you  to  do. 
And  you  must  bring  Mr.  Stuart  with  you,"  Virginia 
answered. 

"  Thanks  for  the  invitation,"  said  the  stranger,  "  but  I 
shall  be  gone  long  before  your  church  fair  opens." 

'  You  will  be  here  a  month  from  now,  if  you  stay  to 
procure  any  figures  from  our  public  records,"  prophesied 
Beaumont.  "  I  will  promise  you  a  trip  to  be  remembered 
if  you  go  to  Wauchula  with  us." 

The  stranger  smiled  politely  and  murmured  something 
about  engagements  in  Chicago. 

"  You  don't  look  like  a  man  to  give  up  any  quest  of  im- 
portance," remarked  his  host.  "  When  I  asked  you  to 
come  to  my  house  I  expected  you  to  stay  a  month.  You  can 
make  Moma  Binna  your  headquarters  and  arrange  your 
trips  to  Muscogee,  Tahlequah,  and  other  capitals  so  that 
you  can  return  here  at  least  once  a  week." 

A  maid  servant  whispered  something  to  Beaumont,  and 
he  hastily  drank  his  coffee. 

"  There  is  a  delegation  of  fullbloods  out  in  the  living 
room,"  he  said.  "  The  Indians  have  come  to  see  me  about 
some  trouble  they  are  having  in  taking  the  census  of  Pon- 
totoc  county.  If  Mr.  Stuart  wants  to  meet  the  Honourable 
Jimmy  Sunfish,  a  member  of  the  legislature,  here  is  his 
chance." 


32  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

The  family  and  guests  followed  Beaumont  into  the  living 
room,  where  five  fullbloods  sat  solemnly  waiting.  They 
were  all  introduced.  Mr.  Sunfish,  evidently  the  spokesman, 
was  stricken  dumb  at  the  sight  of  the  stranger,  and  his  com- 
panions, following  his  example,  also  were  silent.  One  of  the 
Indians  was  old.  He  leaned  upon  a  stout  cane,  but  his  big 
head  was  held  high,  and  his  deeply  lined  face  was  grim  in 
expression. 

"  This  is  John  Oaktree,  a  descendant  of  Tushkaapela,  the 
Warrior  Helper,"  said  Beaumont. 

The  old  Chickasaw  held  out  a  shrivelled  hand  to  Stuart, 
who  spoke  a  few  words  and  found  that  he  was  not  under- 
stood. 

All  the  fullbloods  were  comfortably  dressed  in  the  ill- 
fitting  clothes  that  the  white  man  sends  to  frontier  merchants. 
Around  their  necks  in  place  of  collars  they  wore  bright- 
coloured  silk  handkerchiefs.  It  was  evident  that  the 
stranger  embarrassed  the  Pontotoc  delegation  and  Pakali 
took  her  friends  out  upon  the  wide  gallery. 

The  wind  still  blew.  The  young  trees  were  bending  al- 
most to  the  ground.  The  birds  sought  shelter,  and  over  the 
outdoor  world  brooded  a  quiet  broken  only  by  the  sound  of 
the  "  norther  "  as  it  rushed  through  the  pines  and  shook  the 
windows  of  Moma  Binna. 

"  See  how  the  mud  has  dried,"  said  Cole  Mattison. 
"  Virginia  and  I  must  start  for  Wauchula.  We  can  make 
the  halfway  house  long  before  sundown." 

Virginia  showed  no  indication  of  haste  to  leave  Tisho- 
mingo.  She  drew  Pakali  aside  so  that  she  could  speak  alone 
with  the  girl. 

"  You  men  must  excuse  me,"  she  said,  with  a  wave  of  her 
hand.  "  I  cannot  go  home  without  telling  Lenore  the  very 
latest  gossip  about  Mrs.  Maury,  who  is  trying  to  lead  Wau- 
chula society." 

"  Cannot  you  tell  us,  too?  "  Stuart  asked.     "  I  confess  it 


THE    DOGWOOD    CALENDAR  33 

is  a  disappointment  to  hear  that  even  in  the  Territory  so- 
ciety has  its  rivalries." 

The  girls  shook  their  heads,  and  Stuart  was  left  to  talk 
with  Cole  Mattison,  who  lighted  a  cigar  and  responded 
briefly  to  remarks  addressed  to  him.  Stuart  soon  exhausted 
the  subject  of  the  weather,  but  he  found  his  companion  so 
uncommunicative  concerning  the  affairs  of  the  Nation  that 
he  was  glad  to  return  to  the  subject  of  the  "  norther  "  and  its 
uncomfortable  suggestion  of  a  tornado.  The  two  young 
men  were  about  the  same  age,  but  the  Indian  had  so  much 
of  the  stolidity  for  which  his  race  is  noted  that  his  sullen  face 
lacked  the  boyishness  which  was  one  of  Stuart's  chief  charms. 
The  white  man's  genial  manner  was  beginning  to  have  a  soft- 
ening effect  upon  his  companion,  when  Virginia  announced 
that  she  was  ready  to  continue  her  journey  to  Wauchula. 

Pakali  and  Stuart  watched  the  brother  and  sister  ride 
away.  Then  for  a  moment  an  embarrassed  silence  fell  upon 
them.  For  the  first  time  Pakali  appeared  to  feel  ill  at  ease 
with  the  stranger,  and  Stuart  was  quick  to  note  her  mood. 

"  You  must  not  let  me  interfere  with  any  of  your  plans," 
he  said.  "  Although  you  have  given  me  such  cordial  hos- 
pitality I  know  I  am  a  trespasser  upon  your  kindness."  Some- 
thing like  a  blush  deepened  the  ruddy  hue  on  his  cheeks  as 
he  hastened  to  explain :  "  You  see,  you  have  taken  me  by 
surprise  here  in  Tishomingo.  I  don't  want  to  intrude — 
indeed  I  do  not."  He  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  added: 
"  But  it  is  pleasant  to  have  fallen  into  such  good  company." 

"  When  the  Indian  opens  his  lodge  to  a  stranger  he  does 
not  offer  a  grudging  welcome,"  answered  Pakali.  She 
looked  up  into  his  face  and  in  a  half-teasing  tone  said : 

"  We  are  quite  accustomed  to  the  white  man's  disappoint- 
ment when  he  finds  us  living  among  some  of  the  luxuries  of 
civilisation  that  he  has  provided  for  himself.  I  always  feel 
as  if  I  owed  an  apology  to  such  chance  visitors  as  you  be- 
cause I  am  not  a  nineteenth-century  Pocahontas." 


34  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  It  was  not  courteous  for  me  to 
express  surprise  concerning  Tishomingo."  Stuart  apolo- 
gised with  such  evident  appreciation  of  his  lack  of  delicacy 
that  Pakali,  smiling  upon  him  indulgently,  replied : 

"  The  Indian  maiden  will  show  her  forgiveness  by  taking 
the  white  man  to  one  of  her  woodland  haunts.  Come,  I 
want  you  to  see  how  the  water  pours  over  the  great  boulders 
in  Pennington  Creek." 

From  a  rustic  bench  on  the  porch  she  took  up  a  broad- 
brimmed  light  felt  hat  and  then  led  the  way  down  the 
garden  path  to  the  edge  of  the  bluff,  whence  she  and  Hatta- 
kowa  had  seen  Stuart  for  the  first  time. 

"  Look  down  upon  Tishomingo,"  she  said,  pausing  to 
gaze  upon  the  little  village.  On  a  distant  hill  rose  the  red- 
brick capitol,  and  along  the  main  street  an  ox-team  floun- 
dered in  the  mud.  The  trees,  that  were  touched  with  the 
tender  green  of  the  early  springtime,  bent  beneath  the  wind, 
which  sighed  as  it  rushed  from  mountain  clefts  to  prairie 
wastes.  The  breeze  ruffled  the  girl's  dark  hair  and  tossed 
her  hat  down  the  trail.  Stuart  and  Pakali  pursued  the  roll- 
ing sombrero  until  their  descent  became  a  romping  game. 
When  the  hat  was  finally  recovered  they  paused  for  breath 
upon  the  rustic  bridge  leading  over  Pennington  Creek. 

"  From  this  point  on  we  must  proceed  in  true  Indian 
fashion,"  said  Pakali.  "  I  will  pick  the  way  through  the 
mud  and  you  must  follow  in  my  exact  footsteps." 

"  Will  you  give  a  warning  war  whoop,  or  something  of 
the  kind,  when  you  are  in  danger  of  being  mired?  "  asked 
the  young  man,  gravely  accepting  Pakali's  mood. 

"  We  are  not  on  the  warpath,"  the  girl  answered.  "  This 
trail  leads  to  my  place  of  peace,  and  it  is  a  mark  of  special 
favour  for  me  to  admit  you  to  the  little  nook  where  I  spend 
restful  hours  when  the  Chickasaw  within  me  calls  for  outdoor 
life." 

They  had  come  to  a  sheltered  spot  where  the  rushing  water 


THE   DOGWOOD    CALENDAR  35 

at  flood  time  had  hollowed  out  a  wide  space  and  then  left 
it  dry  after  many  a  large,  round  rock  had  been  tossed  aside. 
Upon  one  of  the  boulders  Pakali  seated  herself.  It  was  so 
high  that  she  could  look  down  upon  Stuart,  who  leaned 
against  one  of  the  big  willows  that  overhung  the  stream. 

"If  the  Territory  were  what  you  imagined  it  to  be  I 
would  be  here  grinding  corn  between  two  stones,"  remarked 
Pakali.  "  As  I  pounded  the  grain  perhaps  I  would  be 
dreaming  of  some  red-skinned  young  brave  off  at  the  chase." 

The  girl  leaned  forward,  resting  her  elbow  upon  her  knee 
and  supporting  her  chin  upon  her  hand.  The  rushing  of 
the  waters  made  her  voice  seem  far  off,  and,  offering  the 
excuse  that  he  could  not  hear,  Stuart  climbed  up  close  to 
her. 

"  Although  you  do  not  grind  corn,  there  is  nothing  to  pre- 
vent you  from  dreaming  of  the  young  brave,"  he  said.  "  Mr. 
Dixon,  whom  you  call  by  a  strange  Indian  name,  appears  to 
be  a  man  any  woman  would  remember." 

"  You  mean  Hattakowa  ?  He  is  my  kinsman,  almost  my 
brother."  Her  manner  forbade  further  comments  concern- 
ing the  Indian.  Stuart  waited  for  the  girl  to  continue  the 
conversation,  but  Pakali,  who  still  retained  enough  of  the 
Indian  characteristics  to  be  reticent  when  it  best  suited  her 
purpose,  appeared  to  be  listening  to  the  song  of  a  mock- 
ing bird  that  dared  to  lift  its  voice  above  the  sounding 
waters. 

"  It  is  not  strange  that  you  call  this  your  '  place  of  peace.'  ' 
Stuart  said  presently.  "  One  could  easily  forget  the  whole 
world  here." 

He  was  young,  and  his  senses  responded  to  the  quickening 
impulse  of  the  spring  day.  The  golden  hour  alone  with 
Pakali  brought  him  near  to  nature  in  a  strange  way  that 
stirred  his  pulses.  The  girl's  beauty  had  in  it  the  same 
mysterious  charm  that  belongs  to  the  early  morning  when  the 
earth  seems  to  have  been  purified.  He  saw  her  face  with 


36  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

its  still  childish  outlines  marked  with  an  elusive  sadness  that 
made  its  sudden  lighting  by  a  chance  smile  little  less  than  a 
transfiguration. 

"  I  do  not  know  much  of  your  world  to  forget,"  answered 
Pakali.  "  From  a  St.  Louis  boarding  school  I  had  few 
glimpses  of  it.  Twice  I  visited  Kansas  City  just  long  enough 
to  be  glad  when  it  was  time  to  return  to  the  Territory.  Most 
of  my  knowledge  has  been  gained  from  visitors  like  yourself 
— men  who  find  us  civilised  Indians  a  rather  astonishing 
type." 

Pakali's  eyes  looked  straight  into  Stuart's  with  the  un- 
flinching gaze  that  was  to  him  her  most  unusual  character- 
istic. He  would  have  spoken,  but  she  made  a  little  gesture 
that  silenced  him. 

"  You  must  not  try  to  explain  just  what  impression  we 
make  upon  you  up  there  at  Moma  Binna,"  she  hastened  to 
say.  "  I  liked  you  last  night  or  I  would  not  have  brought 
you  here  to-day.  If  we  are  to  be  friends  you  must  under- 
stand that  I  am  proud  of  my  Indian  blood,  that  I  have 
always  in  my  heart  a  great  pride  that  I  am  one  of  the  Chick- 
asaws."  She  smiled,  and  added,  mischievously:  "  You  know 
we,  who  are  descended  from  the  aborigines,  are  the  only  real 
American  aristocrats." 

Stuart  slipped  down  to  where  he  could  stand  before  Pakali 
and,  with  uncovered  head,  he  waited  while  she  continued: 

"  We  who  mingle  in  our  veins  the  blood  of  the  Indian  and 
the  blood  of  the  white  man  belong  to  neither  race.  Many 
of  us  have  your  education;  we  are  trained  in  all  your  artifi- 
cial manners,  and  we  have  some  of  the  advantages  that  belong 
to  civilisation,  but  there  is  the  tragedy  of  it  all!  Only  last 
night  Hattakowa  accused  me  of  having  become  altogether  a 
white  woman  in  my  feelings,  yet  if  I  were  really  a  white 
woman  I  should  not  speak  thus  to  you.  I  would  pretend 
that  I  do  not  know  just  how  much  we  puzzle  you." 

"  You  do  puzzle  me,"  answered  Stuart,  "  but  you  do  more. 


THE   DOGWOOD   CALENDAR  37 

You  make  me  give  you  the  best  homage  a  man  can  offer  a 
woman.  I  shall  be  happy  indeed  if  you  will  let  me  be  your 
friend." 

Pakali's  clear  eyes  again  met  his,  but  she  saw  in  the  man's 
face  something  that  made  her  look  away  from  him. 

"  At  first  I  thought  I  would  make  you  uncomfortable  by 
keeping  before  you  the  fact  that  I  am  an  Indian,  but  now  I 
want  you  to  understand  my  people,"  she  continued.  "  Some 
days  you  will  hardly  remember  that  I  am  not  one  of  the 
girls  you  know  in  Chicago,  but  at  other  times  you  will  find 
me  a  Chickasaw,  and  I  mean  to  make  you  like  the  Chickasaw 
better  than  the  other  girl." 

"  I  am  sure  I  shall  like  the  Chickasaw  better  than  any 
other  girl  I  have  ever  seen,"  declared  Stuart. 

Pakali  descended  from  her  high  place. 

"  Don't  make  pretty  speeches  or  we  can  never  be  friends," 
she  warned.  "  Go  up  there  on  the  bank  of  the  creek  and 
bring  me  some  branches  of  dogwood.  I  want  to  show  you 
how  the  Indians  used  to  count  the  days." 

Stuart  clambered  to  the  top  of  the  overhanging  bank. 
When  he  returned  with  the  dogwood,  Pakali  broke  the 
slender  branches  into  small  pieces. 

"  Each  of  these  is  a  day,"  she  said.  "  With  them  we 
shall  mark  the  time  you  have  to  spend  in  the  Chickasaw 
Nation." 

''  You  are  breaking  too  many,"  cautioned  Stuart,  who  was 
standing  beside  her  as  she  arranged  the  sticks  on  a  little  ledge 
of  rock.  "  I  wish  there  might  be  any  number  of  days  for 
me  here,  but " 

"  You  do  not  understand,"  explained  Pakali.  "  It  is 
etiquette  for  me  to  prepare  many  sticks  so  that  you  shall 
know  we  want  you  to  stay  a  long  time  in  our  village.  Here; 
I  mark  the  first  day  with  this." 

She  put  one  stick  on  the  ledge  in  a  spot  where  the  moss 
grew. 


38  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

"  See,  there  is  a  flower  on  the  branch,"  said  Stuart.  "  That 
must  be  a  good  omen." 

Pakali  put  down  a  second  stick. 

"  That  should  also  bear  a  flower,"  the  young  man  re- 
marked, and,  reaching  over  the  girl's  shoulder,  he  substi- 
tuted a  bit  of  branch  that  still  bore  a  bud.  "  All  my  days  in 
wThich  you  have  a  part  must  be  marked  by  a  special  sign." 

Their  hands  touched,  and  Pakali  forgot  to  reprove  him 
for  his  pretty  speech. 


CHAPTER    IV 

ARNOLD    STUART'S    MISSION 

ARNOLD  STUART  had  passed  a  week  in  Tishomingo  before 
he  began  to  think  seriously  of  fulfilling  his  mission  to  the 
Territory.  The  hospitality  of  Moma  Binna  was  so  perfect 
that  he  was  treated  as  if  he  belonged  to  the  Chickasaw 
Nation.  He  had  the  rare  adaptability  of  character  which 
made  him  welcome  everywhere.  His  was  a  nature  that  ex- 
pected the  best  things  of  life.  He  was  a  man  of  wide  exper- 
ience, for  he  had  lived  much  in  his  less  than  thirty  years. 
It  was  said  of  him  that  he  was  always  lucky.  While  he  had 
not  been  born  to  great  wealth,  he  belonged  to  the  large  class 
of  Americans  which  enjoys  all  the  advantages  that  money 
can  buy.  His  father,  while  a  member  of  the  Chicago  Board 
of  Trade,  had  provided  lavishly  for  the  wants,  real  and 
fancied,  of  a  son  whose  easy-going  nature  accepted  what  was 
given 'him  with  the  sort  of  gratitude  which  encouraged  larger 
indulgences.  The  elder  Stuart  had  died  suddenly,  leaving 
an  estate  that  would  support  a  widow  who  enjoyed,  in  a 
dignified  way,  the  gaiety  of  foreign  capitals. 

On  leaving  college  Arnold  had  found  that  what  he  chose 
to  call  his  "  career  "  opened  in  a  promising  manner,  for  he 
was  permitted  to  be  the  fourth  member  of  an  old  and  pros- 
perous law  firm,  the  senior  partner  of  which  was  associated 
in  large  speculations  with  a  congressman  of  a  middle  western 
State.  During  his  first  term  in  the  House  of  Representa- 
tives, Elisha  Fordham  had  been  a  member  of  the  committee 
on  Indian  affairs.  Congressman  Fordham  attracted  national 
attention  by  a  speech  advocating  the  speedier  apportionment 
of  land  to  all  Indian  tribes.  Statistics,  gathered  casually, 

39 


40  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

had  interested  him  in  what  he  termed  the  "  ultimate  possi- 
bilities "  of  the  severally  system.  The  fact  that  that  system 
enables  the  wards  of  the  government  gradually  to  dispose  of 
the  remnant  of  their  diminishing  inheritance  added  to  Judge 
Fordham's  interest,  and  he  engaged  Stuart's  firm  to  make 
certain  investigations  for  him. 

It  seemed  a  wise  move  to  obtain  at  first  hand  more  exact 
data  concerning  the  Five  Nations  that  had  been  exploited  as 
having  more  wealth  per  capita  than  any  other  class  of  people 
in  the  United  States.  Therefore,  Arnold  Stuart  had  been 
chosen  to  gather  statistics  which  might  be  of  great  value  at 
some  future  time.  Although  there  was  nothing  underhand 
or  irregular  in  the  duty  assigned  to  him,  the  young  man,  who 
had  started  southward  with  much  enthusiasm,  soon  began  to 
feel  a  certain  amount  of  distaste  for  the  task  he  had  accepted. 
He  frankly  told  George  Beaumont  why  he  had  come  to  the 
Territory,  and  the  fine  old  Indian  was  quick  to  make  him 
understand  that  much  good  might  be  done  if  the  lawmakers 
dealt  fairly  with  the  red  man. 

Even  though  Beaumont  did  all  in  his  power  to  facilitate 
any  effort  that  might  be  made  to  gain  information  concern- 
ing the  Chickasaws,  Arnold  Stuart  showed  little  inclination 
to  spend  many  hours  a  day  with  the  men  who  had  helped  to 
make  history  in  the  Indian  Territory.  Pakali  lured  him  into 
all  sorts  of  pleasant  pastimes.  On  the  day  when  he  could 
have  heard  reminiscences  of  the  enforced  migration  of  the 
tribes  from  Mississippi,  a  horseback  ride  made  him  forget 
Congressman  Fordham's  anxiety  to  receive  an  extended  re- 
port from  him.  The  day  Sammy  Hotgun,  a  fullblood,  came 
in  to  tell  of  a  new  grievance,  a  long  walk  up  hill  and  down, 
through  little  stretches  of  wood  and  over  broad  expanses  of 
grass,  to  the  oldest  building  in  the  Chickasaw  Nation,  had 
been  planned.  Although  Hotgun,  who  was  a  member  of  the 
Indian  legislature,  was  in  a  most  communicative  mood,  it 


ARNOLD   STUART'S    MISSION  41 

was  impossible  for  the  young  man  to  fix  his  attention  upon 
the  subject  of  lost  cattle  and  stolen  horses.  It  happened  that 
the  Governor  of  the  Nation  rode  in  to  dine  at  Moma  Binna 
on  the  Sunday  Stuart  accompanied  Mrs.  Beaumont  and  her 
daughter  to  the  little  wooden  church,  where  they  remained 
during  a  luncheon  that  was  served  to  the  young  Indians 
who  stayed  to  Sunday  School.  Ordinarily  Arnold  Stuart 
was  not  inclined  to  attend  religious  services,  but  he  responded 
with  much  alacrity  to  Mrs.  Beaumont's  missionary  efforts 
in  his  behalf.  He  knew  that  Pakali  played  the  melodeon, 
and  he  was  quite  willing  to  sit  for  an  hour  or  two  where 
he  could  enjoy  the  privilege  of  studying  every  movement  of 
the  girl,  who  fascinated  him  more  and  more  as  he  saw  her 
in  the  close  association  her  home  afforded  him.  It  was  a 
little  Methodis^:  meetinghouse,  and  enjoyed  the  distinction 
of  being  the  only  church  in  Tishomingo.  It  had  no  regular 
minister,  but  once  a  month  a  Wauchula  pastor  came  to  preach 
to  the  half-dozen  families. 

Stuart's  ears  were  deaf  to  the  minister's  prayer.  The 
Scriptures  failed  to  fix  his  attention.  His  eyes  wandered  from 
face  to  face  as  he  looked  down  upon  the  congregation  from 
a  side  seat,  which  served  as  the  Beaumont  pew.  Among  the 
fifty  persons  was  a  large  proportion  of  men,  some  of  them 
fullbloods.  All  the  men  were  dressed  in  ill-fitting,  ready- 
made  suits,  but  they  wore  clean  linen.  It  was  a  surprise  to 
the  stranger  to  notice  that  the  women  showed  little  of  the 
barbaric  love  of  colour.  Most  of  the  girls  had  eyes  of  great 
beauty  that  relieved  the  plainness  of  heavy-featured  faces. 
All  the  shades  of  colour,  from  the  white  of  the  Caucasian  to 
the  reddish  brown  of  the  Indian,  were  to  be  seen  in  the  con- 
gregation. On  a  bench,  occupied  by  one  halfbreed  family,  a 
golden-haired,  pink-cheeked  little  girl  sat  beside  her  small 
brother  who  had  the  deep,  rich  brown  of  a  fullblood.  For 
the  first  time  Stuart  realised  that  in  Indian  Territory  amal- 


42  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

gamation  had  reached  a  point  where  the  solution  of  the 
Indian  problem,  so  far  as  the  Territory  was  concerned,  could 
be  easily  foreseen. 

Pakali  led  the  first  hymn.  Her  fresh  young  voice  im- 
parted to  the  droning  tune  a  charm  the  young  man  had  never 
discovered  in  any  sacred  music.  He  listened  with  a  rever- 
ence new  to  his  volatile  nature. 

Mrs.  Beaumont  shared  her  hymnbook  with  him,  and 
behind  its  cover  whispered  that  he  must  sing.  He  scanned 
the  words  of  simple  trustfulness  in  divine  power,  and  then, 
beholding  in  Pakali's  eyes  as  they  gazed  upward,  a  look  of 
faith  and  holy  aspiration  that  gave  him  a  new  revelation  of 
her  character,  it  seemed  a  sacrilege  to  lift  his  voice  in  words 
that  meant  nothing  to  him. 

It  was  mid-afternoon  when  Mrs.  Beaumont,  Pakali,  and 
Stuart  returned  to  Moma  Binna,  where  they  found  Mr. 
Beaumont  and  Henry  Sands,  the  Governor  of  the  Chickasaw 
Nation,  enjoying  their  pipes  in  a  cool  corner  of  the  veranda. 
Governor  Sands  was  a  short,  compactly  built  fullblood,  with 
a  broad,  weatherbeaten  face.  He  had  the  high  cheek-bones 
and  the  heavy  jaw  of  the  Indian.  His  small,  black  eyes 
contradicted  the  stranger's  first  impression  that  the  man  was 
stupid.  The  Chickasaw  Governor  gave  Stuart  a  hearty 
greeting,  and  wras  soon  deeply  engrossed  in  discussing  the 
object  of  the  young  man's  visit  to  the  Territory.  After  they 
had  passed  an  hour  together  in  a  conversation  which  made 
Stuart  realise  that,  after  all,  his  errand  to  Tishomingo  carried 
with  it  tremendous  possibilities,  Pakali,  who  had  sat  silently 
gazing  out  upon  the  hills,  rose  suddenly  with  the  exclama- 
tion: "  There  is  Hattakowa!"  She  ran  down  the  path  to 
meet  her  kinsman  as  he  rode  up  the  driveway. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come,"  the  girl  exclaimed,  as 
Hattakowa  dismounted. 

"  I  stayed  away  as  long  as  I  could,  Pakali,"  the  Indian 
said  in  his  low,  solemn  voice.  "  My  reason  told  me  to  stay 


ARNOLD    STUART'S    MISSION  43 

far  from  you,  but  my  heart  longed  for  you.  I  have  not 
counted  the  days  since  I  last  came  to  Moma  Binna,  but  it 
seems  as  if  a  twelvemonth  had  gone  by."  His  eyes  hungrily 
scanned  Pakali's  face  as  he  stood  with  his  arm  thrown  over 
the  neck  of  his  horse. 

"  And  to  me,  too,  the  time  has  seemed  long,"  the  girl  re- 
sponded. "  I  have  lived  and  learned  much  in  the  last  fort- 
night. The  stranger  has  brought  some  of  his  world  to  me. 
He  is  not  like  other  white  men,  and  I  have  wished  that  you 
might  know  him  well." 

"  Pakali,  when  a  man  is  not  like  other  men  to  a  girl,  he 
is  perhaps  the  one  who  will  rule  her  life,"  Hattakowa 
answered. 

"  Foolish  cousin!  To  me  you  are  different  from  all  the 
world  and  yet  you  will  never  rule  my  life.  I  mean  to  guide 
my  own  destiny."  She  tossed  her  head  with  a  pretty  air 
of  independence. 

"  Remember  that  while  you  are  guiding  your  destiny  you 
are  controlling  mine,"  warned  Hattakowa.  "  Have  I  not 
told  you  that  you  are  my  Star  Woman  ?  " 

"  Come  up  on  the  porch,  Hattakowa.  They  are  talking 
politics,  and  you  cannot  be  sentimental  any  more,"  Pakali 
commanded. 

"  How  well  you  have  learned  the  white  woman's  trick 
of  jesting  with  a  man !  "  the  Indian  exclaimed,  as  he  led 
his  horse  toward  the  house.  "  And  yet,  even  though  you 
have  the  ways  of  the  people  I  hate,  still  you  are  to  be  Aiah- 
nichih-Choyoh." 

Hattakowa  met  Stuart  with  a  cold  politeness  that  but 
thinly  veiled  his  hostility.  He  drew  a  chair  close  to  Gov- 
ernor Sands,  and  the  contrast  between  the  two  Indians  was 
brought  out  strongly.  The  fullblood  lacked  the  education 
of  the  halfbreed.  Governor  Sands  was  twenty-five  years 
older  than  Hattakowa.  He  was  a  type  of  the  Chickasaw  of 
an  earlier  time,  and  represented  the  results  of  a  gradual 


44  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

evolution.  He  was  a  man  of  few  words  and  he  made  it 
plain  that,  while  he  cherished  little  bitterness  concerning  the 
white  man,  he  was  ready  to  defend  what  he  called  his 
rights. 

"  Like  my  friend,  Mr.  Beaumont,  I  belong  to  the  Non- 
progressive  party  here  in  the  Chickasaw  Nation,"  he  ex- 
plained. "  My  younger  friend,  Mr.  Dixon,  is  also  of  our 
party,  but  our  political  reasons  are  not  the  same.  Mr. 
Beaumont  and  I  are  two  bridle-wise  old  horses  that  want  to 
trot  along  in  the  same  old  rough  roads,  because  we  know 
they  are  safe.  But  Dixon  is  a  thoroughbred  who  fears  he 
will  be  driven  by  the  white  men  our  Indian  wit  calls  Break- 
In-Rich,  Tom-Needs-It,  and  Jay-Gouge-All." 

"  Tom-Needs-It  cannot  have  my  ranches  if  I  can  help  it," 
declared  Hattakowa.  "  I  know  he  has  a  big  pull  at  Wash- 
ington, for  he  sits  in  Congress,  and  no  doubt  is  a  member  of 
the  Committee  on  Indian  Affairs." 

Stuart's  face  flushed  an  angry  red.  He  cast  an  indignant 
look  at  the  young  Chickasaw,  but  Hattakowa  calmly  lighted 
a  cigar.  After  an  uncomfortable  pause,  the  remark  was 
allowed  to  pass  without  a  challenge,  for  Stuart  was  too  well 
bred  to  start  an  unpleasant  argument  with  a  relative  of  his 
host.  Instead,  he  did  something  that  was  a  more  severe 
retaliation  than  any  other  he  could  have  planned.  He  ex- 
cused himself  to  Mr.  Beaumont  and  Governor  Sands  and 
took  Pakali  away  to  the  garden,  where  there  was  a  rustic 
bench,  whence  they  could  watch  the  sunset  together. 

Pakali  was  silent,  or  spoke  little,  while  she  sat  with  Stuart 
in  the  afterglow  of  the  southern  sunset.  The  young  man 
furtively  watched  her  and  wondered,  with  a  pang  of  jeal- 
ousy, whether  a  closer  tie  than  that  of  kinship  bound  her 
to  the  Chickasaw-Choctaw  whose  personality  was  evidently 
forceful  and  magnetic,  since  even  the  taciturn  Governor  had 
shown  him  respect  and  deference.  Pakali's  manner  invari- 
ably forbade  any  discussion  of  Hattakowa.  She  ignored  the 


ARNOLD   STUART'S    MISSION  45 

Indian's  rudeness  to  the  white  man,  appeared  content 
to  pass  a  quiet  half  hour  watching  the  sky,  while  she  re- 
plied at  random  to  Stuart's  questions  concerning  Governor 
Sands. 

As  evening  came  on  one  horseman  after  another~rode  up 
the  hill  from  the  village,  and  two  or  three  vehicles  followed 
them  to  Moma  Binna.  Stuart  saw  the  negro  servants  lead 
the  horses  away  to  the  stables,  and  he  guessed  that  the  advent 
of  the  tribal  leader  had  brought  together  some  of  the  princi- 
pal men  of  the  Nation.  Presently  light  streamed  from  all 
the  windows  of  Moma  Binna,  and  Lem  came  out  to  announce 
that  supper  was  served. 

"  You  will  have  the  chance  to  see  all  sorts  of  Chickasaws 
to-night,"  said  Pakali,  rising  quickly.  "  I  quite  forgot  that 
I  should  have  helped  mother  welcome  our  self-invited  guests. 
You  know  we  Indians  always  feel  sure  of  ready  hospitality 
whenever  we  go  to  one  another's  houses,  and  so  all  who  come 
to  see  father  expect  to  break  bread  with  him." 

When  they  entered  the  dining  room  Stuart  saw  that  the 
long  table  had  been  stretched  out  to  accommodate  twenty 
persons.  At  the  foot,  behind  the  water-lily-chased  tea  set, 
Mrs.  Beaumont  presided.  At  the  head  sat  Mr.  Beaumont, 
with  the  Governor  at  his  right.  Opposite  the  Governor 
Hattakowa  had  his  place.  Crystal  bowls  of  roses  decorated 
the  table,  and  candles  set  in  handsome  candelabra  shed  a 
soft  radiance  upon  as  peculiar  an  assemblage  as  Stuart  had 
ever  beheld.  Among  the  Indians  were  men  who  were  proud 
to  measure  even  one-thirty-second  part  of  their  blood  as  an 
inheritance  from  aboriginal  ancestry.  Cole  Mattison  and 
his  father,  Peter  Mattison,  sat  on  one  side  of  the  table  with 
a  fullblood  named  Samuel  Jenkins.  The  Honourable  Jimmy 
Sunfish  was  made  conspicuous  by  his  evident  discomfort 
while  attired  in  best  clothes,  which  included  a  very  stiff 
celluloid  collar  without  a  necktie.  John  Oaktree,  the  old 
Indian  who  with  Jimmy  Sunfish  had  composed  part  of  the 


46  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

Pontotoc  delegation  that  came  to  Moma  Binna  the  day  after 
Stuart's  arrival,  had  the  seat  of  honor  next  to  Mrs.  Beau- 
mont. 

For  a  moment  or  two  after  the  appearance  of  Pakali  and 
Stuart  there  was  evident  constraint.  The  fullbloods  most 
ill  at  ease  concealed  their  embarrassment  by  eating  ravenously 
of  the  good  things  offered  them  by  the  negro  waiters.  Con- 
trary to  the  Eastern  custom,  most  of  the  food  was  displayed 
upon  the  table,  but  the  service  was  as  perfect  as  if  it  be- 
longed to  a  fashionable  country  house  on  the  Atlantic  coast. 
It  is  true  that  some  of  the  fullbloods  ignored  the  presence 
of  napkins,  and  used  their  knives  with  an  expertness  that  was 
now  and  then  uncomfortably  suggestive  of  unpleasant  inci- 
dents in  United  States  history,  but  every  man  conducted  him- 
self with  a  dignity  that  was  impressive  to  a  stranger.  John 
Oaktree  had  spoken  several  sentences  in  the  Chickasaw 
language,  and  it  was  evident  that  only  one  or  two  at  the  table 
could  understand  him.  Governor  Sands  acted  as  his  inter- 
preter. 

"  The  spirit  of  Tushkaapela,  the  Warrior  Helper,  causes 
our  friend,  John  Oaktree,  to  resent  the  growing  power  of  the 
squaw  men,"  said  the  Governor.  "  He  predicts  that  the 
Choctaws  will  regret  the  day  they  let  the  squaw  men  sit  in 
their  legislature.  The  squaw  man  will  make  it  easy  for 
his  white  brothers  to  drive  good  bargains  when  the  red  man's 
lands  are  divided." 

"  It  is  due  to  the  squaw  men  who  have  come  from  the 
South  that  we  Indians  will  be  compelled  to  share  our  heritage 
with  the  negroes  we  once  held  as  slaves,"  said  Beaumont. 
"  Most  of  the  squaw  men  belong  to  the  class  called  '  poor 
white  trash,'  and  their  forefathers  never  owned  slaves.  But 
they  have  been  willing  to  share  their  plantations  with  the 
black  men.  We  Chickasaws  lost  our  slaves  in  the  war,  and 
long  ago  we  recognised  the  wisdom  of  emancipation.  But 
why  should  we  give  up  a  share  of  our  property  when  we  are 


ARNOLD    STUART'S    MISSION  47 

the  only  former  slaveholders  from  whom  the  government 
demanded  such  a  sacrifice?  " 

"  '  Why  '  is  a  question  we  Indians  never  should  ask,"  said 
Hattakowa,  with  a  curl  of  his  thin  lips.  "  If  we  pondered 
upon  that  question,  we  might  become  mad  enough  to  rebel 
against  injustice,  even  though  experience  has  taught  us  we 
are  forever  vanquished." 

"  Dixon  should  have  lived  two  hundred  years  ago," 
laughed  Cole  Mattison.  "  When  he  talks,  one  expects  to 
see  him  begin  to  sharpen  his  scalping  knife." 

"  You  deserve  to  be  counted  out  of  the  Chickasaw  Na- 
tion," Hattakowa  retorted  hotly,  "  for  in  feeling  you  do  not 
belong  to  us." 

"  I  hope  to  be  counted  among  those  who  are  civilised," 
Mattison  said,  tauntingly. 

"  Don't  be  too  hasty,  young  man,"  cautioned  the  elder 
Mattison.  "  My  son  and  I  acknowledge  an  ambition  to 
become  full  citizens  of  the  United  States.  So,  too,  does 
Samuel  Jenkins.  But  why  don't  you  speak  for  yourself, 
Jenkins?" 

The  fullblood,  to  whom  the  appeal  was  made,  was  a 
wrinkled,  shrivelled  man,  past  middle  age.  He  had  a  shrewd 
face,  and  he  looked  through  half  closed,  watery  eyes. 

"  It  come  natural  for  some  to  learn  when  they  was 
stamped  on  a  few  times,"  he  said,  brokenly.  "  I  not  one  to 
grunt  and  wait  to  be  walked  on  more.  I  was  teach  that 
white  man  must  have  the  Territory." 

"  I  have  heard  that  Attorney  See-My-Fee  has  argued  much 
with  Jenkins,"  said  Governor  Sands. 

All  the  Indians  laughed  heartily,  except  Peter  and  Cole 
Mattison. 

"  When  I  was  to  Muscogee  one  lawyer  was  hold  counsel 
with  me,"  admitted  Jenkins,  who  evidently  had  the  tradi- 
tional lack  of  humour. 

"  And  did  you  meet  the  lawyer's  employers,  Break-In- 


48  THE   MAN   OF  YESTERDAY 

Rich,  Tom-Needs-It,  and  Jay-Gouge-All?  "  inquired  Mr. 
Beaumont. 

"  I  know  none  of  those  gentlemen,"  replied  Jenkins,  who 
was  beginning  to  look  angry. 

Again  there  was  a  laugh. 

"  Have  some  of  my  currant  jam,  Mr.  Jenkins,"  Mrs. 
Beaumont  hastened  to  urge,  from  behind  the  silver  urn. 

The  currant  jam  was  passed,  and  the  conversation  drifted 
to  less  inflammatory  topfcs  than  land  allotment.  It  was 
Stuart  who -drew  out  reminiscences  of  earlier  days  when  few 
white  men  trespassed  upon  the  Territory.  Mr.  Beaumont 
recalled  childhood  memories  of  the  journey  from  Missis- 
sippi, and  Governor  Sands  translated  John  Oaktree's  story 
of  his  first  buffalo  hunt.  When  the  candles  were  burning 
low,  Hattakowa,  forgetting  the  presence  of  Stuart,  told  of 
his  first  resentment  against  the  white  man. 

"  It  was  in  the  days  when  my  cousin  Lenore,  whom  we  of 
the  family  call  Pakali,  and  I  went  to  school  together  at 
Boggy  Depot,"  he  said.  Looking  across  the  table  his  eyes 
met  Pakali's,  but  he  went  on  as  if  she  were  not  present.  "  We 
were  little  children  then.  Pakali  was  eight  and  I  five  years 
older.  The  white  teachers  had  obtained  the  school  contract 
from  the  government  because  they  had  put  in  the  highest 
bids.  The  Chickasaw  Nation  paid  for  the  education  of  its 
boys  and  girls,  and  we  were  housed  in  a  place  that  was  not 
fit  for  cattle.  We  were  given  little  instruction,  and  we 
were  punished  cruelly.  Starved  and  beaten  and  neglected,  I 
learned  to  hate  the  idea  of  education.  We  boys,  who  had 
negro  servants  at  home,  were  compelled  to  work  in  the  fields 
when  we  ought  to  have  been  at  our  books.  The  girls,  more 
tenderly  reared  than  many  a  white  child,  were  put  to  the 
most  menial  tasks.  Pakali  washed  dishes  and  scrubbed 
floors.  They  made  her  carry  great  pails  of  water  from  the 
well,  until  one  day  I  cursed  the  hypocrite  who  pretended 
that  he  was  civilising  us.  One  of  the  girls'  studies  was  em- 


ARNOLD    STUART'S    MISSION  49 

broidery.  More  than  half  the  days  were  passed  over  muslin 
curtains  which  were  sold  for  high  prices  in  St.  Louis  shops. 
There  came  a  day  when  Pakali  was  discovered  neglecting 
her  embroidery  in  order  that  she  might  read  a  book.  The 
woman — who,  by  the  way,  was  the  wife  of  the  white  Pharisee 
of  a  pedagogue — struck  the  eight-year-old  child  over  the 
head  and  called  her  a  '  lazy  little  savage,  meaner  than  a 
nigger.'  I  had  been  sent  to  the  sewing  room  upon  an  errand 
and  heard  this  insult.  Though  I  am  an  Indian,  it  was  im- 
possible even  then  for  me  to  strike  a  woman.  I  threw  a  pail 
of  water  upon  the  contemptible  creature,  and  I  made  her 
listen  while  I  told  her  how  she  and  her  husband  appeared  to 
a  Chickasaw  boy.  The  incident  gave  Pakali  and  me  a  vaca- 
tion, but  it  eventually  put  an  end  to  the  rule  of  the  two  dis- 
honest teachers  who  had  made  a  great  deal  of  money  out  of 
their  Boggy  Depot  venture." 

Hattakowa  had  told  his  story  with  a  simplicity  which 
showed  much  reserve  feeling.  A  little  pause  followed  its 
close.  The  candles  near  the  speaker  were  flickering,  and  his 
face  was  in  the  shadow,  but  Stuart  saw  that  his  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  Pakali,  as  if  he  had  forgotten  the  presence  of  all 
except  the  girl. 

"  No  one  here  will  think  I  have  meant  to  boast  of  boyish 
chivalry,"  Hattakowa  added  suddenly.  As  he  pushed  back 
the  heavy  hair  from  his  forehead,  Stuart  caught  the  gleam  of 
the  ruby  ring  on  Hattakowa's  hand,  and  he  quickly  turned 
away  lest  the  Indian  might  see  that  he  noticed  it  again. 

"  The  candles  are  burning  out.  Let  us  go  into  the  living 
room."  It  was  Pakali  who  spoke  to  her  mother.  Mrs. 
Beaumont  rose  from  the  table,  and  when  the  party  had  re- 
assembled in  the  living  room,  the  young  girl  was  missing. 


CHAPTER    V 

PAKALI   TELLS   A    STORY 

FATE  in  the  shape  of  a  letter  from  Elisha  Fordham,  the 
congressman  who  had  caused  Stuart's  mission  to  the  Terri- 
tory, awoke  the  visitor  at  Moma  Binna  to  a  sense  of  his  short- 
comings as  a  confidential  agent.  From  his  middle  western 
State  Mr.  Fordham  inquired  why  certain  important  data  had 
not  been  forwarded  to  him.  Stuart  was  lounging  upon  the 
veranda  when  a  small  negro  boy  brought  the  letter.  He 
was  waiting  for  Pakali,  who  had  promised  to  drive  with  him. 
Looking  back  upon  the  last  fortnight,  the  young  man  sud- 
denly realised  that  he  had  passed  most  of  his  time  waiting  for 
Pakali,  when  he  was  not  actually  with  her.  He  had  put  off 
a  trip  to  Muscogee  for  no  reason  except  that  he  was  enjoy- 
ing the  weeks  in  Tishomingo.  There  were  whole  days  when 
he  had  forgotten  everything  except  what  pertained  to  Pakali 
and  Moma  Binna. 

Arnold  Stuart  threw  away  his  cigar  and  paced  up  and 
down  the  veranda.  He  had  sent  to  the  congressman  some 
valuable  information  concerning  the  Chickasaws.  For  a 
moment  he  tried  to  make  himself  believe  that  it  was  at  least 
an  honest  return  for  four  weeks'  salary,  which  had  been  sent 
punctually  to  him.  He  was  inclined  to  indulge  in  self- 
deception.  In  order  to  feel  at  peace  with  the  world  he  liked 
to  justify  himself.  Although  his  mind  dwelt  upon  the  fact 
that  the  reports  he  had  written  contained  much  which  would 
have  been  impossible  to  procure  except  through  the  friendship 
of  leading  men  of  the  Nation,  he  knew  he  could  not  safely 
procrastinate  another  day. 

"  I  must  start  for  Muscogee  this  afternoon,"  he  announced 


PAKALI    TELLS    A    STORY  51 

to  Pakali,  who  drove  a  little  basket  phaeton  up  to  the  door, 
and  commanded  Stuart  to  take  his  place  beside  her. 

"Why  are  you  so  suddenly  tired  of  this  Indian  tepee?  " 
she  asked,  glancing  at  him  from  beneath  her  broad-brimmed 
hat. 

"  Why  have  I  lingered  so  long  in  Moma  Binna?  is  the 
question,"  he  replied,  looking  at  her  with  a  meaning  she  tried 
to  ignore  by  paying  attention  to  her  pony. 

"  I  have  just  received  a  letter  that  made  me  realise  how 
nearly  you  have  caused  me  to  be  unfaithful  to  a  business 
trust.  Do  you  know  that  a  congressman  waits  while  you 
lure  me  away  from  musty  records  and  old  documents  ?  " 

"  You  do  not  mean  that  you  must  go  ?  "  the  girl  said, 
with  a  little  tremble  in  her  voice.  "  I — I  thought  you  were 
only  jesting,  for,  whenever  I  refuse  to  humour  you  in  some 
foolish  whim,  you  threaten  to  go  away." 

Pakali  held  her  chin  very  high  and  pretended  to  be  in- 
different. 

"  Threaten  you,  Miss  Beaumont?  I  am  not  such  an 
egotist  as  to  suppose  that  you  would  fear  to  know  the  time 
of  my  going." 

The  pony,  which  had  started  out  by  trotting  briskly,  ex- 
perimented with  a  slow  walk,  but  Pakali  paid  no  attention  to 
him,  and  instead  amused  herself  by  playing  with  the  buckle 
on  the  lines. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  never  coming  back  to  Tishomingo?  " 
The  girl  gained  courage  to  look  her  companion  in  the  face. 
Stuart  had  taken  off  his  hat,  and  for  the  first  time  in  many 
days  she  saw  him  as  the  white  man,  w7ho  belonged  not  to  her 
race.  His  fair  hair  curled  upon  his  broad,  white  brow.  His 
clear-cut  features  had  a  delicacy  that  was  lacking  in  the  In- 
dian. His  blue  eyes  looked  through  glasses,  a  distinguishing 
mark  of  the  civilised  man. 

"  I  will  come  if  you  will  let  me,"  Stuart  promised.  Look- 
ing at  Pakali,  Stuart,  who  was  an  impulsive  man,  found  it 


52  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

hard  to  keep  back  words  which  would  let  her  know  that  she 
had  become  much  more  than  a  passing  acquaintance. 

Pakali  had  had  time  to  regain  her  self-possession. 

"  You  tell  me  your  coming  back  depends  upon  me,"  she 
said,  with  a  taunting  smile.  "  The  white  man  is  not  ruled 
by  the  Indian.  You  know  there  will  always  be  a  wel- 
come for  you  at  Moma  Binna,  for  is  it  not  a  '  lodge  for 
all'?" 

"  Moma  Binna  has  become  an  enchanted  palace  to  me," 
Stuart  answered.  "  One  versed  in  magic  dwells  there." 

"  It  has  been  said  that  Mammy  'Liza,  my  old  nurse,  is  a 
witch,  but  you  have  not  even  seen  her,  for  she  has  been  ill 
ever  since  you  came  to  Tishomingo." 

Pakali  whipped  up  the  pony  and  added,  with  a  little  catch 
in  her  breath:  "  Do  you  know  Mammy  'Liza  warned  me 
the  night  you  arrived  that  a  white  chief  came  carrying  trouble 
to  Moma  Binna?  " 

"  If  I  thought  that  my  visit  to  the  Territory  would  bring 
anything  but  good  to  you  and  your  people  I  should  feel  that 
death  was  too  good  for  me,"  the  young  man  declared,  fer- 
vently. For  a  second  they  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  and 
the  girl  read  something  in  Stuart's  that  caused  her  to  stop 
the  pony  beneath  a  clump  of  trees. 

"  Let  us  gather  some  of  the  yellow  sunflowers  that  grow 
along  the  road,"  she  said,  jumping  lightly  from  the  phaeton, 
and  beginning  to  tie  the  pony  to  a  drooping  oak  limb. 

Before  Stuart  could  reach  her  she  was  plucking  the  sun- 
flowers. He  stopped  to  watch  her  as  she  stood  among  the 
yellow  blossoms,  which  brought  out  the  clear  tones  of  her 
dark  skin.  Afterward  in  his  dreams  he  often  saw  her  as 
she  looked  that  day.  She  wore  a  gown  of  cream  white 
material,  simply  made.  Her  broad-brimmed  hat  was 
pushed  back  from  the  shining  black  hair  parted  over  her 
forehead. 

"  Please  carry  these  flowers  to  the  phaeton,"  Pakali  said, 


PAKALI    TELLS    A   STORY  53 

"  and  then  I  will  show  you  the  swinging  seat  the  grape- 
vine has  formed  beneath  the  oak." 

After  Stuart  had  done  her  bidding,  she  made  a  place  for 
him  on  a  log,  which  she  brushed  carefully  with  a  bunch  of 
sunflowers. 

"  You  must  sit  there  while  I  enjoy  my  grape-vine  swing," 
she  directed.  Swaying  gently  among  the  vines,  she  began  to 
talk  rapidly,  as  if  she  desired  to  prevent  him  from  saying 
something  that  might  be  embarrassing. 

"  Perhaps  you  do  not  know  that  the  grape-vine  is  con- 
nected with  one  of  the  Indian  legends  which  accounts  for  our 
first  appearance  in  this  outer  world,"  she  said.  "  Once  the 
red  men  lived  in  a  large  cavern  under  ground.  A  grape- 
vine extended  its  roots  down  to  their  village,  and  one  day  a 
little  streak  of  sunshine  appeared  among  the  entangled  off- 
shoots of  the  giant  roots.  Some  of  the  most  adventurous 
of  the  Indians  climbed  up  the  vine  and  were  so  delighted  with 
the  sight  of  the  bright  outside  world,  which  they  found  rich 
in  every  kind  of  fruit,  that  they  resolved  to  go  forth  into 
the  upper  regions.  Men,  women,  and  children  ascended 
the  vine  until  half  the  nation  had  reached  the  surface.  Two 
sisters,  the  most  beautiful  maidens  in  the  tribe,  started  to 
follow  those  who  sought  the  light.  Both  were  exceedingly 
rich  in  the  trinkets  the  primitive  women  used  for  personal 
adornment.  When  the  maidens  began  to  climb,  the  vine  that 
had  borne  the  weight  of  half  the  tribe  swayed  dangerously. 
One  of  the  maidens  took  off  her  stone  anklets  and  armlets 
and  threw  them  away.  Still  the  vine  bent  alarmingly.  Then 
she  cast  from  her  many  necklaces  made  of  rare  pebbles. 
Without  any  of  her  precious  ornaments  she  reached  the  out- 
side world,  but  her  sister,  who  would  not  give  up  her  trinkets, 
climbed  only  part  way,  when  the  vine  broke  beneath  her 
weight,  leaving  her  and  half  the  nation  forever  imprisoned 
in  the  earth." 

"  What  became  of  the  beautiful  maiden  ?  "  inquired  Stuart. 


54  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

"  Does  not  the  legend  tell  what  happened  to  her  after  she 
reached  the  sunlight?  " 

"  Yes,  she  is  said  to  have  found  great  joy  and  great 
sorrow." 

Pakali  glanced  at  her  companion,  who  took  the  liberty  of 
leaving  his  place  on  the  log  in  order  to  sit  close  to  the 
grapevine  that  had  suggested  the  old  legend  to  the  Indian 
girl. 

"  Tell  me  about  the  great  joy  that  the  maiden  found,"  said 
Stuart.  "  You  know  I  don't  like  to  hear  about  unpleasant 
things,  so  you  may  omit  what  the  legend  says  about  the 
sorrow." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  about  the  joy  without  mentioning  the 
sorrow,"  Pakali  answered,  giving  him  a  little  questioning 
glance.  "  You  see,  a  white  man  brought  both  to  the  maiden, 
and  I  think  I  would  rather  not  finish  the  story." 

''  You  must  tell  me  every  word  of  it  now,"  insisted  Stuart, 
"  for  my  curiosity  is  aroused." 

"  Well,  in  the  land  of  the  sunlight  the  maiden  one  day 
saw  a  white  man  whom  she  worshipped  as  a  god,  because 
she  believed  him  to  be  one  of  the  children  of  the  sun.  When 
she  knelt  before  him,  with  her  face  to  the  ground,  he  raised 
her  up  and  told  her  that  he  was  earth-born  like  herself.  Then 
the  maiden  loved  him." 

"  Surely  she  set  a  good  fashion  to  her  people.  I  wonder 
if  Indian  maids  often  love  white  men  now,"  interrupted 
Stuart. 

"  Not  if  they  learn  wisdom  from  the  legend,"  declared 
Pakali,  "  for  when  the  maiden  left  her  people  to  follow  the 
white  man  she  was  happy  until  they  came  to  a  wonderful 
city,  where  the  gates  opened,  and  the  white  man  went  in 
alone,  leaving  the  Indian  girl  to  die  as  she  wandered  back 
through  the  forest  in  search  of  her  tribe." 

Stuart  rose  to  his  feet.  Standing  before  Pakali,  he  said: 
"  Have  you  been  thinking  of  this  legend  all  these  weeks 


J5 


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"l  WONDER  IF  INDIAN   MAIDS  OFTEN  LOVE  WHITE  MEN   NO\v" — Page  54 


PAKALI    TELLS   A   STORY  55 

that  we  have  been  together  ?  And  now  that  I  am  going  away 
do  you  take  this  means  of  letting  me  know  how  little  faith 
you  put  in  the  friendship  of  a  white  man  ?  " 

"  When  I  began  the  legend  I  did  not  mean  to  tell  it  all, 
but  somehow  it  told  itself."  The  girl  left  her  grape-vine 
seat  and  walked  a  few  steps  away.  "  As  we  drove  out  here 
you  made  the  pretty  speeches  that  the  white  man  uses  when 
he  addresses  the  women  of  his  own  race.  The  Indian  knows 
that  they  mean  nothing.  It  is  easier  for  me  to  make  you 
understand  that  by  telling  you  the  legend." 

"  You  shall  not  think  so  meanly  of  me.  You  must  listen 
to  me  now."  Stuart  advanced  toward  her  and  put  out  his 
hand  as  if  he  would  touch  her,  but  she  retreated  from 
him. 

"  There  is  nothing  that  you  can  say  to  me  excepting  good- 
bye. You  forget  that  I  am  an  Indian,  and  therefore  different 
from  the  girls  you  have  known  all  your  life.  Until  to-day  I 
did  not  know  how  much  your  friendship  had  come  to  mean  to 
me."  She  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  "  Good-bye.  I  thank 
you  for  many  pleasant  hours.  When  I  go  down  to  my  nook 
on  Pennington  Creek  I  shall  mark  to-day  with  a  shrivelled 
stick."  She  laughed  in  a  nervous  way. 

The  young  man  took  her  hand  and  held  it  fast.  "  You 
cannot  get  away  now,"  he  said.  "  You  must  hear  that  you 
have  made  me  hold  you  as  one  who  is  far  above  any  girl  in 
all  my  world." 

"  Remember  that  every  word  you  say  now  must  be  only 
a  humiliation,"  faltered  Pakali,  "  for  I  shall  know  my  legend 
has  made  you  feel  the  need  of  making  protestations  that  I 
should  not  hear.  The  Indian  woman  is  more  frank  than 
the  white  woman,  therefore  do  not  judge  me  harshly  when 
you  measure  me  according  to  your  standard."  She  proudly 
drew  away  from  him,  and  he  saw  that  there  were  tears  in 
her  eyes. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said   again.     "  You  must  drive  home 


56  THE   MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

alone,  for  I  am  going  to  the  house  of  a  friend  who  lives  just 
over  the  hill.  They  will  take  me  back  to  Moma  Binna  after 
you  are  gone." 

Before  Stuart  could  reply  to  her  she  had  run  up  the  hill. 
He  saw  her  stand  for  a  moment  at  the  crest  of  the  hill  to 
look  back  at  him.  Then  she  disappeared. 


CHAPTER   VI 
THE  RIDE  TO   WAUCHULA 

AFTER  Stuart  went  away  from  Moma  Binna  Pakali  found 
that  the  days  seemed  dull  and  colourless.  Every  member  of 
the  household  appeared  to  miss  the  white  man,  who  had  be- 
come so  much  a  part  of  the  family  life  that  his  absence  made 
a  perceptible  difference  in  the  daily  routine.  In  the  evening, 
when  George  Beaumont  smoked  his  pipe  out  on  the  veranda, 
he  declared  frequently  that  he  missed  the  young  man  who  had 
shown  a  rare  intelligence  in  discussing  politics.  With  a  sigh 
Mrs.  Beaumont  said  that  he  had  brought  a  breath  of  her 
girlhood  home  with  him.  "  Not  that  I  ever  really  long  for 
my  old  Eastern  surroundings,"  she  made  haste  to  explain, 
as  she  let  her  crocheting  fall  from  her  hand,  "  but  it  is  re- 
freshing now  and  then  to  meet  a  man  who  has  the  polish 
of  an  older  civilisation  than  ours  here  in  the  Territory." 

Pakali  listened  to  these  remarks  without  adding  any  com- 
ments. The  summer  evenings  brought  to  her  a  sense  of 
loneliness  never  before  experienced  in  the  Territory  she  loved 
because  it  was  her  birthplace.  As  she  watched  the  crimson 
afterglow  fade  from  the  cloudless  sky,  she  wondered  whether 
she  wrould  ever  see  Arnold  Stuart  again.  Her  reason  told 
her  that  he  was  not  likely  to  return  to  Tishomingo,  but  in 
her  heart  was  the  hope  that  in  some  way  he  would  be  brought 
back  to  her.  She  did  not  try  to  analyse  her  feelings,  for  all 
her  life  it  had  been  impressed  upon  her  that  the  white  man 
was  treacherous,  and  that  he  belonged  to  a  different  race 
from  hers. 

George  Beaumont,  whose  spirit  was  the  most  liberal  in  the 
whole  Nation,  had  often  preached  this  as  the  only  safe  creed 

57 


58  THE    MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

for  the  Indian,  but  he  had  never  failed  to  discriminate  in 
judging  strangers  from  the  States.  He  had  shown  an  un- 
usual confidence  in  Arnold  Stuart,  but  when  he  bade  fare- 
well to  the  young  man  he  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  the 
acquaintance  ended  at  the  doorstep  of  Moma  Binna. 

Several  days  after  Stuart's  departure  two  brief  notes  from 
the  stranger  came  to  Moma  Binna.  In  one,  addressed  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Beaumont,  Stuart  expressed  his  appreciation  of 
their  hospitality.  The  other  told  Pakali  in  a  single  line  that 
his  thoughts  travelled  back  to  her  every  hour  as  he  rode  far 
away  from  Tishomingo.  The  girl  read  the  note  many  times 
after  she  had  stolen  away  to  her  nook  by  the  creek.  She 
felt  a  pang  of  disappointment  because  it  held  out  no  promise 
of  a  future  meeting,  and  because  it  did  not  even  express  a 
wish  that  some  day  they  might  again  be  brought  together. 
Pakali  went  to  the  little  cleft  in  the  rock  where  she  had  put 
the  sticks  with  which  she  had  marked  the  days  of  Stuart's 
sojourn  in  Moma  Binna.  She  counted  them  carefully. 
They  numbered  forty.  As  she  lifted  the  first  one  from  its 
place  a  withered  blossom  fell  from  it.  Going  down  close 
to  the  edge  of  the  creek  she  gathered  some  smooth  stones, 
which  she  carefully  fitted  into  the  little  niche,  thus  securely 
sealing  her  calendar  of  precious  days  so  that  it  might  be 
undisturbed. 

Fortunately,  preparations  for  the  church  fair  at  Wauchula 
presently  engrossed  the  time  of  Mrs.  Beaumont  and  Pakali. 
More  than  a  fortnight  they  worked  diligently  for  what  was 
to  be  the  most  ambitious  public  entertainment  ever  given  in 
the  Chickasaw  Nation.  As  she  altered  her  costume — a  beaded 
buckskin  skirt  and  loose  jacket,  lent  to  her  from  the  collection 
of  heirlooms  treasured  by  Hattakowa's  mother — Pakali  re- 
membered that  Virginia  Mattison  had  urged  Stuart  to  attend 
the  bazaar.  Everything  that  was  done  at  Moma  Binna 
recalled  memories  of  the  white  man,  and  she  was  conscious 
that  the  heartache  she  felt  was  not  altogether  explained  when 


THE    RIDE    TO    WAUCHULA  59 

she  told  herself  that  she  felt  the  need  of  congenial  compan- 
ionship. 

The  heat  of  the  Indian  Territory  summer  came  on  sud- 
denly. At  midday  the  sun  scorched  the  grassy  plains  and 
withered  the  trees.  In  the  fields  the  cotton  stalks  grew  tall. 
The  dusty  roads  were  little  travelled.  Pennington  Creek 
shrank  in  its  rocky  course,  and  the  sound  of  its  flowing  waters 
diminished  from  a  roar  to  a  gentle  murmur.  Although 
Wauchula  was  only  thirty  miles  distant  from  Tishomingo, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Beaumont  decided  to  devote  part  of  two  days 
to  the  journey.  The  best  team  of  horses  and  a  comfortable 
two-seated  carriage  were  selected  for  the  trip,  but  Pakali 
insisted  that  she  should  be  permitted  to  ride  her  pony.  It 
was  agreed  that  they  should  start  at  sundown  in  order  to 
reach  the  halfway  house  at  bedtime. 

From  the  veranda  Pakali  listlessly  watched  Mammy  'Liza 
and  Lem  load  the  carriage  with  cakes  and  other  contributions 
for  the  fair. 

"  This  Sunday  School  bazaar  business  is  more  trouble  than 
a  cattle  round-up,"  Beaumont  grumbled,  good-naturedly,  as 
he  came  around  the  corner  of  the  house.  "  If  I  didn't  have 
to  see  the  managers  of  my  cotton  gin  I  shouldn't  have  the 
courage  to  go  to  Wauchula  this  hot  weather." 

"  I  wish  we  could  all  stay  at  home,"  said  Pakali. 

Beaumont  stopped  to  look  at  his  daughhter  with  keen 
scrutiny. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter?  "  he  asked,  putting  his  arm 
around  her  and  drawing  her  to  him.  "  I  hope  you  are 
feeling  well.  Now  that  I  think  of  it  you've  been  rather  out 
of  spirits  for  the  last  two  weeks." 

"  I  am  only  lazy,  father,"  Pakali  answered,  affectionately 
patting  his  scarred  cheek.  She  raised  herself  upon  tiptoe 
to  kiss  him,  when,  over  his  shoulder,  she  saw  something  that 
made  her  heart  beat  with  a  quickened  throb. 

Stuart  had  ridden  up  the  hill  and  was  dismounting  near 


60  THE   MAN   OF  YESTERDAY 

the  carriage  where  her  mother  was  superintending  the  serv- 
ants. Turning  from  his  daughter,  Beaumont  discovered  the 
white  man  and  went  forward  to  add  his  welcome  to  Mrs. 
Beaumont's  greetings. 

Pakali  stood  where  her  father  had  left  her.  She  had  tried 
to  imagine  how  it  would  be  if  Arnold  Stuart  came  back, 
but  now  that  he  was  not  more  than  a  hundred  yards  from 
her  she  lacked  the  strength  to  go  to  him.  Trembling  she 
waited  until  he  should  finish  explaining  his  return  to  her 
parents.  She  could  not  hear  what  he  said,  but  when  he  had 
taken  her  hand  he  spoke  softly  to  her  as  if  he  were  answering 
the  call  of  her  heart  as  it  had  been  heard  across  the  rolling 
plains  and  rising  hills  in  the  weeks  of  his  absence. 

"  I  could  not  stay  away  from  you,  Pakali,"  he  confessed, 
seeking  in  her  eyes  the  assurance  that  she  had  missed  him. 
She  met  his  gaze  with  the  steady  look  that  had  often  dis- 
concerted him,  but  he  saw  that  the  soul  of  the  woman  had 
awakened.  The  girl  made  no  answer. 

"  When  you  left  me  there  by  your  grapevine  seat  you 
ceased  to  be  Miss  Beaumont  to  me,"  Stuart  continued. 
"  Then  I  knew  that  I  could  not  go  out  of  your  life,  and 
every  hour  since  then  I  have  had  the  name  of  Pakali  on  my 
lips.  Three  days  ago  I  turned  my  horse's  head  toward 
Tishomingo.  I  have  ridden  at  a  reckless  speed  all  the  days 
and  much  of  the  nights  since  then.  Tell  me  that  you  are 
glad  to  see  me." 

"  I  am  glad,"  she  answered,  simply. 

It  was  the  sunset  hour  when  Stuart  on  a  fresh  mount 
rode  with  Pakali  behind  the  carriage  which  led  the  way  to 
Wauchula.  The  quiet  of  the  summer  evening  soothed  the 
girl,  who  had  been  in  a  state  of  happy  excitement  since  she 
had  heard  Stuart's  few  words,  so  full  of  meaning.  They 
were  going  toward  the  west,  and  for  a  long  time  neither 
spoke.  The  wavering,  dusty  highway,  stretching  from  the 
Chickasaw  capital,  passed  over  rolling  hills  and  through  little 


THE   RIDE   TO   WAUCHULA  61 

stretches  of  woodland.  As  they  emerged  from  an  arch  of 
trees  Stuart  stopped,  as  if  something  had  happened  to  his 
saddle  girth,  but  when  he  had  dismounted  he  put  a  detaining 
hand  upon  the  bridle  of  the  girl's  pony,  and,  going  around 
to  the  left  side  where  he  could  stand  close  to  her,  he  said: 

"  Pakali,  as  I  travelled  back  to  you  I  tried  to  understand 
just  what  you  might  mean  to  me  through  all  my  life.  I 
don't  know  when  I  discovered  that  I  loved  you,  but  I  did 
not  realise  until  I  left  you  that  in  all  my  ambitions,  in  all 
my  old  associations,  there  is  nothing  compared  to  the  desire 
to  claim  you  as  my  wife."  He  spoke  as  one  who  had  weighed 
his  words.  He  gave  utterance  to  his  heart's  desire  with  the 
solemnity  of  a  man  who  had  come  to  a  great  decision. 

"  Pakali,  do  you  think  you  could  love  me  enough  to  go 
with  me  to  my  far  off  city  ?  Could  you  trust  me  not  to  close 
the  gates  until  I  have  taken  you  inside?  " 

While  he  spoke  Pakali's  face  had  been  turned  toward  the 
sunset,  and  now,  when  she  looked  at  him,  the  light  of  faith 
and  love  shone  in  her  dark  eyes. 

"  Even  though  I  knew  that  you  would  shut  me  out  of 
your  city,  I  could  not  prevent  my  heart  from  beating  for 
you,"  she  answered. 

With  a  sudden  perception  of  the  sacredness  of  the  re- 
sponsibility put  upon  him  by  this  endowment  of  a  woman's 
supreme  devotion,  Stuart  stood  for  a  moment  dumb  be- 
fore Pakali.  Then  he  stretched  out  his  arms  to  her  and 
she  came  to  him.  He  folded  her  close  to  his  heart,  and, 
because  there  was  so  much  of  the  white  woman  in  her  nature, 
she  wept  upon  his  breast,  thus  washing  out  the  memory  of 
the  dreary  days  of  separation. 

There  was  only  a  tiny  speck  of  black  far  off  against  the 
horizon  when  Stuart  and  Pakali  looked  for  the  carriage  that 
they  were  following,  and,  after  they  had  caught  up  with  it, 
they  made  amends  for  previous  unsociability  by  keeping  close 
to  the  vehicle.  As  the  twilight  deepened,  often  they  reached 


62  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

out  to  clasp  hands  in  the  dusk  and  to  whisper  words  of 
endearment. 

It  was  late  when  they  reached  the  halfway  house.  As 
they  entered  the  big  wagon  yard  at  the  side  of  the  inn,  Stuart 
bade  Pakali  to  wait  until  he  should  have  helped  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Beaumont  to  alight.  After  he  had  seen  them  safe  in- 
side the  queer  house,  he  lifted  Pakali  from  the  saddle  and 
kissed  her  good-night  before  he  let  her  go. 

They  resumed  their  journey  early  in  the  morning  when 
soft  breezes  swept  over  the  cotton  fields  and  the  meadow 
larks  were  singing. 

"  The  long  ride  seems  to  have  done  Pakali  a  world  of 
good,"  remarked  Beaumont,  looking  at  his  daughter  as  she 
galloped  past  the  carriage. 

"  She  appears  very  happy  to-day,"  answered  Mrs.  Beau- 
mont. "  She  has  been  lonely  at  Moma  Binna. 


CHAPTER   VII 

NEW    HOPES    AND    OLD    PREJUDICES 

WAUCHULA  was  an  ambitious  town,  composed  of  three 
thousand  white  inhabitants,  one  thousand  negroes,  and  five 
hundred  Indians,  who  had  been  brought  together  because  the 
growing  cotton  interests  opened  many  lines  of  business.  Ow- 
ing to  the  fact  that  all  the  land  was  leased  from  the  Indians, 
Wauchula  had  no  corporate  existence,  and  its  buildings  were 
of  the  most  flimsy  and  temporary  character.  The  streets 
were  irregular,  inasmuch  as  lots  had  been  selected  hit  or 
miss.  There  were  no  public  improvements  and  no  town 
officials;  indeed,  Wauchula  had  been  widely  advertised  as 
a  city  without  mayor  or  police.  Although  its  only  scavenger 
system  was  maintained  by  wandering  hogs  of  the  variety 
known  as  the  Texas  razor  back,  Wauchula  was  not  without 
civic  pride.  It  boasted  of  ten  churches  and  a  building  called 
by  courtesy  the  "  Opera  House."  The  fair  was  held  in  the 
Opera  House,  and  thither  went  Beaumont  and  Stuart  late 
in  the  evening,  when  the  festivities  were  being  enjoyed  by 
several  hundred  persons.  On  the  stage,  which  was  set  for  a 
parlour  scene,  Mrs.  Beaumont  presided  over  the  serving  of 
supper.  The  walls  of  the  big  room  were  lined  with  gaily 
decorated  booths,  around  which  crowded  prettily  attired  girls, 
and  youths,  roughly  garbed  in  the  costumes  much  in  vogue 
wherever  there  is  a  frontier  settlement.  A  few  well-dressed 
men  were  conspicuous  in  the  throng.  Among  these  were 
Cole  Mattison  and  a  friend,  whom  he  introduced  as  Ogden 
Maury,  a  youth  with  a  weak,  good-natured  face  and  a  shock 
of  wavy  red  hair.  Ogden  Maury  took  charge  of  Stuart. 

"  You  must  meet  my  mother  and  father,"  he  said,  con- 
ducting the  stranger  to  a  table  where  cakes  were  being  sold. 

63 


64  THE    MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

Here  a  stout,  dignified,  middle-aged  white  woman,  who 
wore  a  gown  of  lavender  silk,  gave  effusive  greeting  to 
Stuart. 

"  I  know  you  do  not  belong  to  the  Territory,"  she  said, 
looking  at  the  newcomer.  "  Do  be  kind  enough  to  take  a 
chair  near  me  here  so  that  I  may  have  the  pleasure  of  talking 
with  someone  who  has  recently  come  from  civilisation." 

Mrs.  Maury  had  rather  a  handsome  face  from  which  the 
thin,  light  hair  was  drawn  back  into  a  frizzled  pompadour, 
and  a  naturally  fair  skin  which  had  been  too  liberally  dusted 
with  powder.  The  neck  of  her  gown,  from  which  a  triangle 
had  been  cut,  was  filled  in  with  lace,  the  yellow  hue  of  which 
proclaimed  that  it  was  "  real." 

"  It  is  no  doubt  very  amusing  to  visit  Wauchula,"  Mrs. 
Maury  said,  fanning  herself  vigorously.  "  But  it  is  a  terrible 
thing  to  be  a  resident." 

"  Have  you  been  here  for  a  long  time?  "  Stuart  ventured. 

"  Five  dreadful  years,"  Mrs.  Maury  answered.  "  We 
came  here  for  my  husband's  health,  but  you  know  the  lines 
of  the  poet: 

"  '  Better  fifty  years  of  Europe  than  a  cycle  of  Cathay.' 
I  should  say:  Better  two  years  of  Mississippi  than  five 
decades  of  Indian  Territory." 

"  I  have  found  much  to  interest  me,"  Stuart  remarked. 
"  I  consider  the  Indians  of  the  Chickasaw  and  Choctaw 
Nations  fine  types  of  a  little-understood  race." 

"  That's  because  you  don't  know  much  about  them.  I 
hope  you  won't  be  as  foolish  as  my  son  and  fall  in  love  with 
one  of  the  halfbreeds." 

Stuart,  who  had  so  lately  come  into  a  close  relation  with 
Pakali,  resented  the  woman's  tone.  He  felt  a  shock  when 
her  words  brought  home  the  fact  that  the  girl  whom  he  had 
chosen  for  his  wife  belonged  to  the  class  known  as  mixed 
bloods. 

"  I  can  easily  understand  how  your  son*rnight  be  fascinated 


NEW    HOPES   AND    OLD    PREJUDICES    65 

by  any  one  of  the  beautiful  young  women  I  see  here  to- 
night," he  said. 

"  Oh,  you  can,  can  you  ?  "  The  fan  vibrated  with  in- 
creased velocity.  "  Would  you  choose  that  Virginia  Mat- 
tison  ?  Ogden  Maury  is  going  to  marry  her.  The  idea  of  it 
is  just  killing  me.  But  I  have  to  pretend  it's  all  right,  and 
that's  why  I  am  helping  this  bazaar.  I  don't  know  why  I  talk 
to  you  so  freely,  but  it  seems  as  if  you  ought  to  sympathise 
with  me.  Most  people  after  living  here  a  while  get  so  ac- 
customed to  the  Indians  that  they  seem  to  think  the  red  man 
just  as  good  as  anyone." 

11  The  Indians  form  the  only  real  American  aristocracy," 
Stuart  declared,  giving  way  to  the  temptation  to  retaliate 
for  the  comment  upon  the  halfbreeds. 

"So  you've  heard  that  ridiculous  assertion,  have  you?" 
Mrs.  Maury  here  excused  herself  while  she  sold  an  angel 
cake  at  a  fabulous  price.  "  Is  your  mother  living?  "  she 
asked,  returning  to  her  chair. 

Stuart  said,  "Yes,"  and  Mrs.  Maury  went  on: 

"  Well,  how  do  you  think  she'd  feel  if  she  had  to  intro- 
duce an  Indian  squaw  as  her  daughter-in-law?  Would  she 
like  to  look  forward  to  an  old  age  in  which  she  would  be 
surrounded  by  grandchildren  the  colour  of  that  flower  pot?  " 

She  pointed  her  fan  toward  a  large  earthenware  jardiniere 
in  which  blossomed  an  oleander. 

Stuart  had  not  thought  about  his  mother,  who  had  been 
so  long  in  Europe  that  he  seldom  considered  her  in  connec- 
tion with  anything  which  concerned  himself.  Involuntarily 
he  recoiled  from  the  bald  presentation  of  the  intermarriage 
problem,  and  he  rose  to  leave  Mrs.  Maury. 

"  There !  You  see  you  can't  reply  when  anyone  discusses 
a  Chickasaw  or  Choctaw  romance  in  a  sensible  way."  Mrs. 
Maury  smiled  and  held  out  her  hand.  "  Well,  I'm  glad  I've 
uttered  a  word  of  warning  to  you.  Don't  act  upon  the  idea 
that  this  real  American  aristocracy  will  some  day  give  your 


66  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

children  a  chance  to  belong  to  a  respected  patriotic  society 
called  The  Daughters  of  the  Tomahawk  Wielders,  or  The 
Sons  of  American  Scalpers." 

Stuart  had  walked  away  a  short  distance  when  he  was 
called  back  to  be  presented  to  a  tall,  elderly  man  with  a 
bald  head,  a  big  moustache,  and  a  long  goatee. 

"  You  must  meet  Judge  Maury,"  said  the  voice  that  had 
irritated  him  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

The  two  men  shook  hands,  and  Stuart  instantly  liked  the 
Judge,  who  had  a  florid  face  that  was  kindly  in  expression. 

"  Mrs.  Maury  has  been  telling  me  that  you  came  here 
for  your  health,"  he  said,  by  way  of  making  conversation. 

The  Judge  looked  at  his  wife  and  laughed. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  suppose  that's  a  polite  way  of  explaining 
why  I  left  Mississippi,"  Judge  Maury  replied.  "  The  fact 
is,  I  came  away  to  escape  the  temptation  of  drinking  too 
many  mint  juleps.  We  can't  drink  anything  here  except  the 
patent  medicines,  no  matter  how  much  we  need  a  stimulant." 

Mrs.  Maury  scowled,  but  the  Judge  only  laughed  again. 
Linking  his  arm  in  Stuart's,  he  promised  to  take  the  stranger 
to  the  place  where  he  would  see  the  prettiest  girl  in  the 
Southwest. 

The  two  men  threaded  their  way  among  the  groups  of 
laughing  young  persons  and  came  to  a  booth  that  was  the 
center  of  attraction.  Here  Pakali,  who  wore  a  picturesque 
Indian  costume,  sold  moccasins  and  bead  work,  which  had 
been  obtained  from  the  wild  tribes  of  Oklahoma.  Stuart 
watched  her  for  a  few  moments  while  she  was  unconscious 
of  his  presence.  She  was  a  Chickasaw  for  the  hour.  The 
costume  brought  out  all  the  distinguishing  characteristics  of 
her  Indian  ancestry.  Her  black  hair  fell  in  two  heavy 
braids  below  the  waist,  and  the  gay  jacket,  open  at  the  neck, 
showed  her  smooth,  dark  skin.  On  her  delicately  rounded 
arms,  bare  to  the  elbow,  heavy  bracelets  of  rudely  hammered 
silver  were  worn.  A  strangely  wrought  girdle  of  semi- 


NEW    HOPES   AND    OLD    PREJUDICES     67 

precious  stones  united  her  skirt  with  a  crimson  under-blouse, 
heavily  embroidered.  Gorgeous  moccasins  encased  her  small 
feet. 

Pakali  smiled  upon  all  who  came  to  buy  her  wares.  It 
was  her  nature  to  laugh  seldom,  but  to-night  she  was  in  a 
merry  mood  and  her  red  lips  often  parted,  revealing  the 
dazzling  teeth  that  were  a  portion  of  her  heritage  from  a 
primitive  race.  Now  and  then  her  eyes,  dark  and  luminous, 
searched  the  throng  as  if  she  missed  some  face. 

Judge  Maury  was  called  away,  and  Stuart  had  a  chance 
to  ponder  a  moment  upon  the  fact  that  the  Indian  girl  had 
promised  to  be  his  wife.  Until  that  night  she  had  been  to 
him  a  woman  apart  from  all  others,  but,  although  she  had 
never  failed  to  remind  him  she  was  a  Chickasaw,  he  had  not 
stopped  to  measure  the  full  purport  of  her  lineage.  In  the 
years  to  come  would  she  belong  altogether  to  his  race?  Or 
might  she  develop  atavistic  tendencies  ?  She  was  young  now, 
and  all  that  was  Indian  in  her  added  to  her  charm,  for  she 
had  borrowed  only  the  beauty  and  the  romance  of  the  red 
race.  Mrs.  Maury's  words  left  a  little  sting.  Stuart  hated 
himself  for  remembering  them  while  he  looked  at  Pakali. 

The  girl  turned  her  head  as  if  she  were  listening.  It 
seemed  as  if  she  might  be  aware  of  Stuart's  disloyal  thoughts. 
He  noticed  a  shade  of  anxiety  on  her  face,  and  he  stepped 
forward  so  that  she  could  see  him.  Forgetting  the  crowd 
she  cast  upon  him  such  a  look  of  happy  recognition  that  it 
was  strange  all  who  beheld  her  did  not  guess  love  was  shining 
in  her  eyes.  The  crowd  saw  that  a  stranger  had  come  to 
the  booth  and  Stuart  was  allowed  to  go  to  the  railing  where 
he  could  speak  to  Pakali. 

"  It  is  five  years  since  we  last  met,  Miss  Beaumont,"  he 
said  in  distinct  tones,  bowing  as  formally  as  if  he  had  but 
just  arrived  in  the  Territory. 

"  Five  years!  "  Pakali  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  five  years,"  he  said,  and  then,  lowering  his  tone  so 


68  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

that  only  Pakali  could  hear:  "  It  was  six  o'clock  when  you 
left  me,  and  every  hour  away  from  you  seems  a  year." 

"  Hush !  "  she  cautioned.  "  Such  speeches  are  not  proper 
at  a  church  fair." 

"  Come.  We  are  all  to  have  supper  together.  Your 
father  and  mother  and  some  of  your  friends  are  waiting  now, 
up  there  on  the  stage." 

"  I  cannot  go  until  I  have  sold  the  very  last  pappoose 
bag,  and  the  uttermost  pincushion,"  she  answered  with  de- 
cision. 

"  Then  you  shall  go  in  ten  minutes,  for  I  will  buy  your 
whole  stock." 

"  That  would  not  be  exactly  businesslike,"  objected  Pakali. 
"  I  have  promised  to  close  the  booth  with  an  auction." 

"  Let's  have  the  auction  now." 

Without  more  ado  Stuart  stepped  upon  a  chair  and  began 
to  commend  a  tobacco  pouch  to  possible  purchasers.  As  he 
stood  high  above  the  men  and  women  who  pushed  forward 
he  was  easily  recognised  as  a  man  who  belonged  to  a  distant 
State.  With  the  self-possession  of  the  habitant  of  cities  he 
addressed  the  throng.  His  training  as  a  lawyer  gave  him  a 
ready  wit  in  public  speaking  and  he  soon  disposed  of  every- 
thing excepting  a  few  undesirable  specimens  of  needlework, 
which  he  bought. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Beaumont,  with  Judge  and  Mrs.  Maury, 
were  still  waiting  at  the  supper  table  when  Stuart  and  Pakali 
had  successfully  finished  their  labour  of  selling  beadwork. 
After  they  were  seated  three  places  were  still  reserved,  and 
these  soon  were  occupied  by  Cole  Mattison,  his  sister  Vir- 
ginia, and  Ogden  Maury. 

"  I  am  glad  this  thing  is  just  about  ended,"  declared  Beau- 
mont, looking  down  upon  the  thinning  crowd.  "  The  next 
time  we  want  money  for  a  church  we'll  just  hire  a  regular 
circus  to  come  from  Texas,  or  we'll  do  something  else  that's 
easy." 


NEW    HOPES   AND    OLD    PREJUDICES    69 

Mrs.  Beaumont  shook  her  head  reprovingly,  but  admitted 
that  she  was  very  tired.  Her  delicate  face  was  flushed,  and 
in  her  soft  foulard  gown  she  had  regained  much  of  her  youth- 
ful prettiness.  Glancing  from  the  face  of  his  wife  to  the 
face  of  his  daughter,  Beaumont  said  jestingly: 

"  Mother,  do  you  own  this  Indian  girl  in  the  buckskin 
togs?" 

Stuart  looked  for  some  resemblance  between  the  young 
woman  and  the  elder  one,  and  he  saw  only  that  there  was  a 
similarity  in  the  curve  of  the  lips,  and  in  the  outline  of  the 
chin. 

"  My  Chickasaw  family  makes  it  difficult  for  me  to  retain 
a  Christian  humility  of  spirit,"  Mrs.  Beaumont  answered, 
looking  affectionately  at  her  husband  and  her  only  child. 

"  Ever  since  I  first  became  acquainted  with  Miss  Lenore 
I  have  had  an  exalted  opinion  of  Indians,"  Judge  Maury 
asserted  gallantly. 

Mrs.  Maury  gave  the  impression  that  she  was  about  to 
make  a  remark,  but  a  second  thought  evidently  caused  her 
to  remain  silent.  The  appearance  of  Ogden  Maury  and 
Virginia  Mattison  diverted  attention.  Mrs.  Maury  gave  the 
girl  a  cold  greeting,  but  Virginia  had  a  pride  quite  equal  to 
that  of  her  future  mother-in-law,  and  her  manner  showed  in- 
difference to  the  opinion  of  the  older  woman. 

"  Everything  has  gone  beautifully  this  evening.  I  am  so 
happy  over  it,"  exclaimed  Virginia.  "  I  am  sure  Mr.  Stuart 
will  say  he  never  saw  a  better  church  fair  in  Chicago." 

Stuart  truthfully  averred  that  he  had  never  before  at- 
tended any  festivity  so  enjoyable  as  the  Wauchula  bazaar. 
Church  fairs  were  not  included  in  the  list  of  his  social  ex- 
periences at  home,  but  he  did  not  mention  this  fact. 

"  When  one  considers  that  we  are  on  the  frontier  this  is 
a  most  surprising  success,"  admitted  Mrs.  Maury,  with  an 
air  of  condescension. 

"  There  isn't  any  frontier  nowadays,"  Virginia  replied, 


70  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

with  a  little  resentment  in  her  tone.  "  But  the  Territory 
labours  under  many  unpleasant  conditions,  because  we  In- 
dians are  the  wards  of  Uncle  Sam." 

Mrs.  Beaumont  hastened  to  change  the  subject  by  inquiring 
whether  the  party  preferred  salted  or  unsalted  butter  on  the 
chicken  sandwiches. 

The  cold  meats  and  salads  were  served  by  pretty  girls  who 
chatted  with  Pakali  and  Virginia.  Cole  Mattison  helped 
the  volunteer  waitresses  carry  in  the  heavy  cups  of  coffee. 
Supper  proceeded  without  any  conversational  jar  until  Mrs. 
Maury  began  to  arrange  a  sight-seeing  party  for  a  barbecue 
which  was  to  take  place  a  month  later. 

"  You  must  not  make  your  plans  so  far  ahead,"  cautioned 
Ogden  Maury.  "  Virginia  and  I  have  just  set  our  wedding 
day,  and  I  shall  expect  you  to  keep  very  busy  helping  us 
furnish  our  house." 

The  young  man's  mother  was  speechless  for  a  moment. 

"  Lenore  must  prepare  to  devote  much  of  her  time  to 
me,"  Virginia  added,  quickly.  "  For  I  am  sure  I  cannot  do 
anything  without  her  advice." 

Pakali  responded  rather  half-heartedly. 

"  Who  knows  but  Miss  Lenore  may  have  a  wedding  of 
her  own  to  think  about,"  Judge  Maury  suggested  at  random. 

It  was  plain  that  the  Judge's  careless  words  had  touched 
the  truth,  for  Pakali's  face  flamed  with  a  vivid  crimson. 

"  If  I  have  any  influence  with  her  there  will  soon  be  a 
wedding  at  Moma  Binna,"  said  Stuart.  "  A  few  hours  ago 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Beaumont  gave  their  consent  to  my  engage- 
ment to  their  daughter." 

He  looked  Mrs.  Maury  square  in  the  face. 

Rising  from  his  chair  Judge  Maury  covered  all  embarrass- 
ment by  saying: 

"  Here's  a  wish  for  long  life  and  happiness.  If  I  were 
not  in  the  Territory  I  should  drink  your  health  in  a  mint 
julep." 


CHAPTER    VIII 
HATTAKOWA   SAYS   FAREWELL 

MOMA  BINNA  was  being  made  ready  for  Pakali's  wedding 
day.  A  month  had  passed  since  the  Wauchula  fair,  and 
Beaumont  reluctantly  had  given  his  consent  when  Stuart 
urged  that  the  marriage  should  take  place  at  the  earliest 
possible  date.  The  old  Indian  had  not  thought  that  his  only 
daughter  might  leave  the  Nation,  but,  after  Pakali  pleaded 
that  she  loved  the  stranger  as  she  could  never  love  anybody 
else  in  all  the  world,  he  had  declared  that  she  should  choose 
what  promised  happiness  to  her. 

"  I  should  be  the  last  person  to  insist  that  you  should 
marry  a  Chickasaw  or  Choctaw,"  he  said,  "  for  you  have 
only  followed  your  father's  example  in  loving  one  of  the 
white  race." 

Mrs.  Beaumont  had  acknowledged  that  deep  in  her  heart 
she  coveted  for  her  daughter  all  the  advantages  the  world 
could  offer.  The  idea  of  the  necessary  separation  from  her 
only  child  gave  her  such  deep  pain  that,  following  her  long 
custom  of  severe  self-discipline,  she  had  prayed  much,  and 
had  tried  to  put  out  of  her  mind  all  thoughts  of  the  lonely 
days  that  were  coming  to  her. 

Stuart  had  taken  pains  to  furnish  Beaumont  with  the  most 
minute  information  concerning  himself.  Because  the  Indian 
appeared  to  share  Pakali's  absolute  trust  in  him,  it  became 
a  matter  of  pride  that  he  should  supply  credentials  which 
would  show  that  his  was  an  honourable  name.  When  he 
had  frankly  admitted  that  he  had  little  wealth  but  large 
ambitions,  Beaumont  had  hastily  interrupted  him  with  the 
words:  "  Pakali  will  not  need  wealth  from  you.  In  her 


72  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

own  right  she  will  have  all  that  she  and  her  children  will 
want." 

This  remark  had  brought  a  flush  of  shame  to  the  white 
man's  face  and  he  made  the  quick  answer: 

"  Surely  you  know  that  until  this  moment  I  have  never 
thought  of  Pakali's  inheritance." 

Beaumont  had  laughed.  "  Certainly  I  know  it,"  he  said. 
"  For  if  you  were  mercenary  you  would  have  planned  to  stay 
here  in  the  Territory,  and  you  would  have  desired  to  marry 
my  daughter  according  to  the  Chickasaw  laws,  which  would 
give  you  full  Indian  rights  to  land  and  tribal  property.  If 
I  consulted  my  own  wishes  I  should  endeavour  to  persuade 
you  to  cast  your  lot  with  us,  but  I  respect  you  because  you 
intend  to  make  your  own  way  by  means  of  your  profes- 
sion." 

Stuart  had  gone  to  Texas  to  take  charge  of  a  case  tried 
in  the  courts  of  Galveston.  This  business  enabled  him  to 
pass  the  weeks  before  the  wedding  not  too  far  from  Pakali. 
In  a  jesting  manner  he  had  said  that  he  could  not  go  back  to 
Chicago  without  her,  for  he  had  a  premonition  that  if  he 
did,  in  some  way,  she  might  be  lost  to  him. 

Pakali  paid  little  attention  to  her  mother's  elaborate 
preparations  for  the  wedding.  She  had  gone  about  in  a 
happy  dream  from  which  she  had  awakened  only  now  and 
then  when  her  father  or  mother  reminded  her  that  she  was 
about  to  leave  them.  She  had  passed  much  of  her  time  on 
horseback,  and,  every  day,  sitting  upon  the  big  rock  down  by 
the  creek,  had  written  long  letters  to  Arnold  Stuart. 

Pakali  could  now  count  the  hours  that  must  elapse  before 
the  man  she  loved  would  come  for  her.  Again  she  stood 
upon  the  veranda  of  Moma  Binna  and  looked  down  upon 
the  village  of  Tishomingo.  The  early  evening  had  brought 
quiet  to  the  household,  and  she  had  been  busy  with  the  last 
arrangements  for  the  festivities  which  were  to  attend  the 
wedding.  In  the  negro  quarters  she  heard  the  servants  sing- 


HATTAKOWA   SAYS   FAREWELL  73 

ing  after  their  hard  day's  work.  She  had  kissed  the  Little 
Mother,  who  was  so  tired  as  to  be  obliged  to  lie  upon  the 
big  lounge  in  the  living  room,  and  she  had  watched  her 
father  walk  down  the  hill  to  meet  some  of  the  Indians  at  the 
old  Poyner  tavern.  Now  that  she  was  alone  in  the  twilight, 
she  felt  a  pang  of  homesickness  as  she  wondered  how  it  would 
seem  when  she  was  no  longer  one  of  the  Chickasaw  Nation. 
Looking  into  the  future  she  imagined  how  she  would  miss 
her  parents  and  her  friends,  and  how  she  might  listen  in  the 
noise  of  the  great  city  for  the  soothing  music  of  Pennington 
Creek.  Hattakowa  had  said  that  she  had  become  in  spirit 
a  white  woman,  but  she  knew  the  Indian  within  her  always 
would  long  for  the  cool  forests  and  the  rushing  waters. 

Hattakowa — where  was  he?  For  the  first  time  in  all  the 
weeks  of  her  joyous  dreaming  she  thought  intently  of  her 
kinsman.  His  mother  had  come  to  bring  her  a  gift  and  to 
wish  her  happy  years,  but  he  had  not  even  sent  her  a  mes- 
sage. As  if  in  answer  to  her  thought  Hattakowa  rode  up 
the  hill.  He  was  leading  a  black  saddle  horse  with  well 
arched  neck  and  slender  legs.  Before  he  noticed  Pakali  he 
ordered  one  of  the  servants  to  take  his  own  mount  and  the 
other  horse  to  the  stable.  Then  he  walked  slowly  toward 
the  house.  The  girl  ran  down  the  steps  to  meet  him. 

"  It  seemed  as  if  you  had  forgotten  me,  Hattakowa,"  she 
said,  reproachfully,  but  when  she  looked  into  his  face  its 
expression  rebuked  her  for  a  remark  that  had  in  it  something 
of  the  coquetry  common  to  all  women. 

"  It  was  my  intention  never  to  see  you  again,  Pakali,"  he 
answered,  retaining  the  hand  she  held  out  to  him.  "  To-day, 
when  I  counted  that  the  sun  would  set  but  twice  before  you 
were  lost  to  me  forever,  I  ceased  to  be  a  strong  man.  I  came 
to  tell  you  that  I  would  have  my  love  for  you  become  as  a 
charm  that  will  bring  you  help  in  time  of  need." 

"  I  knew  you  would  never  fail  me  if  I  needed  your  help," 
Pakali  answered,  "  but  wish  that  your  love  may  be  a  charm 


74  THE    MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

that  will  save  me  from  all  trouble,  instead  of  a  help  after 
trouble  comes." 

"  I  would  have  the  Great  Spirit  bestow  upon  my  Star 
Woman  only  the  precious  gifts." 

Hattakowa  turned  away  from  her  to  stand  for  a  moment 
with  his  arms  crossed  over  his  broad  chest. 

"  From  the  hour  I  saw  the  stranger  I  knew  his  coming 
to  Moma  Binna  meant  much  to  all  beneath  its  roof,"  he 
said,  slowly.  "  But  even  though  through  all  the  days  since 
then  I  have  tried  to  bend  to  fate,  I  stand  before  you  now 
rebellious  because  I  am  not  the  man  who  is  to  share  your 
life.  Through  many  centuries  the  Indian  has  found  the 
lesson  of  submission  set  for  him  by  the  white  race  one  that 
he  cannot  learn." 

"  Hush,  Hattakowa.  Dear  Hattakowa,  I  cannot  bear 
to  think  that  my  happiness  will  cause  you  grief,"  cried  Pakali. 

"  I  am  a  blundering  fellow,  yet  you  know  I  would  not 
cast  even  the  slightest  shadow  upon  you,"  said  Hattakowa. 
"  Remember,  the  Indian  must  either  keep  his  mouth  closed, 
or  speak  with  words  that  carry  the  truth  but  roughly  garbed." 

His  eyes  rested  upon  her  with  a  look  of  intense  longing. 
The  girl  shrank  away  from  him. 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid  that  I  shall  carry  you  off," 
Hattakowa  said.  "  Even  though  I  have  brought  two  horses 
I  have  planned  no  reckless  deed  by  which  I  may  possess  you, 
who  are  to  me  '  The  Woman  to  be  Desired  above  all  Others.' 
I  have  brought  you  my  Ossilusa  for  a  wedding  gift.  Even 
though  you  may  not  take  the  Black  Eagle  away  with  you 
it  will  be  a  pleasure  for  me  to  know  that  he  is  yours." 

"  How  good  of  you!  "  exclaimed  Pakali.  "  You  remem- 
bered that  I  admired  Ossilusa  more  than  any  other  horse 
that  you  own.  But  did  you  not  tell  me  that  he  was  to  win 
races  for  you?  " 

"  Surely  I  would  give  you  only  what  is  best  of  all,"  an- 
swered Hattakowa. 


HATTAKOWA    SAYS   FAREWELL  75 

The  brief  twilight  had  faded  from  the  sky.  In  the  dusk 
Pakali  held  out  her  hand  to  Hattakowa  and  he  drew  her 
near  to  him  where  he  could  see  her  face,  which  wore  a  new 
beauty — the  beauty  that  love  gives  to  a  woman  who  accepts 
it  as  a  holy  revelation. 

"  This  must  be  good-bye,  Pakali,"  said  Hattakowa.  "  You 
will  not  mind  if  I  tell  you  that  through  all  the  years  I  shall 
carry  the  memory  of  the  kiss  you  gave  me  even  though  I  may 
never  again  touch  your  lips." 

Trembling,  Pakali  listened  to  him,  and  while  he  looked 
at  her  the  longing  in  his  heart  warned  him  that  he  dared 
not  wait  to  tell  the  woman  he  loved  that,  liked  winged 
arrows,  his  best  hopes  would  follow  her. 


CHAPTER   IX 

A   GALA   DAY   AT  TISHOMINGO 

PAKALI'S  wedding  day  came  with  a  glory  of  golden  sunshine. 
The  news  that  the  daughter  of  George  Beaumont  was  to  be 
married  to  a  white  man,  who  would  take  her  away  from  the 
Territory,  had  spread  to  every  house  in  the  Chickasaw  Na- 
tion. Fullbloods,  who  looked  upon  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Beau- 
mont as  protectors  against  the  encroachment,  of  settlers  from 
the  States,  expressed  their  sorrow  because  Pakali  had  chosen 
a  husband  from  among  their  hereditary  oppressors,  but  their 
regret  concerning  the  alliance  of  the  most  beautiful  daughter 
of  the  Chickasaws  with  a  white  man  did  not  prevent  them 
from  sending  to  Moma  Binna  tokens  of  their  good  will. 

Except  kinsmen  of  the  Beaumont  family,  Governor  Sands 
and  John  Oaktree  were  the  only  Chickasaws  bidden  to  the 
marriage  ceremony,  but  George  Beaumont  had  arranged  a 
feast  in  front  of  the  brick  capitol  on  the  hill  to  which  all  who 
might  come  were  welcome.  It  had  been  Stuart's  wish  that 
there  should  be  few  guests  and  little  ostentation  at  the  wed- 
ding. Virginia  Mattison  and  her  brother  Cole,  Judge  and 
Mrs.  Maury,  and  Ogden  Maury,  were  the  only  guests  from 
Wauchula  in  addition  to  those  whose  claims  of  kinship  en- 
titled them  to  invitations.  Inasmuch  as  the  Indian  counts 
his  relatives  as  far  away  as  the  family  blood  can  be  traced, 
a  large  party  assembled  at  Moma  Binna. 

The  big  house  had  been  decorated  with  trailing  vines  and 
graceful  branches  of  the  oak  and  locust  trees.  It  had  been 
Pakali's  whimsical  fancy  to  have  the  large  living  room  ar- 
ranged so  that  it  would  be  suggestive  of  Indian  traditions. 
"  My  great-grandmother  was  married  in  the  forest,"  she  said 

76 


A   GALA   DAY  AT  TISHOMINGO         77 

to  her  father,  "  and  I  want  you  to  know  that,  although  I  am 
to  be  the  wife  of  a  white  man,  still,  on  the  happiest  day  of 
my  life,  I  shall  keep  uppermost  in  my  mind  the  thought  that 
I  am  a  Chickasaw,  and  that  I  must  be  always  worthy  to  be 
counted  as  one  of  the  Nation."  Veranda  and  living  room 
had  been  transformed  into  woodland  nooks,  for  young  sap- 
lings, ground  pine,  and  mosses  had  been  used  with  good  effect. 

As  Arnold  Stuart  rode  into  Tishomingo  on  the  early  morn- 
ing of  his  wedding  day,  he  passed  many  queer  looking  ve- 
hicles carrying  Indians  who  were  attired  in  holiday  dress. 
All  the  Chickasaws  and  Choctaws  wore  the  garments  of 
civilisation,  but  these  were  strangely  fashioned,  and  many 
incongruous  effects  were  produced  by  combinations  of  cheap 
millinery  and  custom-made  finery. 

Stuart  had  been  thinking  of  Pakali  with  the  pride  of  near 
possession.  In  the  days  of  their  separation  he  had  had  ample 
time  to  attempt  analysis  of  his  love  for  the  Indian  girl.  He 
had  never  been  a  cool-headed,  calculating  man,  so  far  as 
women  were  concerned,  but  he  could  not  explain  his  precipi- 
tate wooing  except  on  the  ground  that  Pakali  satisfied  his 
heart's  desire.  He  knew  that  he  had  been  susceptible  to  the 
fascination  of  the  strange  life  of  the  Territory,  and  that  it 
had  amused  him  to  adapt  himself  to  conditions  entirely  dif- 
ferent from  those  in  which  he  had  been  reared.  Because 
always  he  had  been  free  to  indulge  whatever  whim  or  desire 
might  present  itself  to  him,  he  had  put  out  of  his  mind 
every  possible  objection  likely  to  arise  from  his  choice  of  a 
Chickasaw  wife.  Fate,  or  chance,  had  smoothed  the  way 
to  his  speedy  marriage.  Even  the  case  that  took  him  to 
Texas  had  prevented  him  from  returning  to  Chicago,  whence 
he  would  have  seen  Indian  Territory  from  the  vantage 
ground  of  a  far  perspective. 

It  was  his  wedding  day,  and,  after  his  usual  fashion,  he 
entertained  only  the  pleasant  thoughts.  Whenever  a  doubt 
embodying  his  mother's  opinion,  or  his  future  ambitions, 


78  THE   MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

passed  across  his  mind,  he  spurred  his  horse,  and,  looking  up 
into  the  cloudless  sky,  repeated :  "  Pakali  belongs  to  me." 

Stuart  dismounted  at  a  spring  where  John  Oaktree  and 
several  other  fullbloods  had  halted. 

"  What  is  taking  the  crowd  to  Tishomingo?  "  he  asked, 
by  way  of  greeting.  But  John  Oaktree  did  not  understand 
English.  Stuart  repeated  the  question,  and  a  bright-faced 
girl  answered: 

"  To-day  Miss  Beaumont  will  be  married  to  a  stranger." 

"  And  is  everyone  going  to  the  wedding  ?  "  inquired 
Stuart,  with  a  pang  of  apprehension.  The  realisation  that 
he  was  about  to  identify  himself  with  the  Indians  swept  over 
him. 

"  The  bride's  father  will  give  a  feast  for  the  Chickasaws. 
Only  kinfolk  will  go  to  the  wedding,"  explained  the  girl. 

Leaning  against  a  tree  the  man  who  was  to  be  the  bride- 
groom waited  until  John  Oaktree  should  drive  away.  For 
a  moment  the  dusty  road,  the  moving  wagons,  and  the  long 
stretch  of  green  prairie,  blurred  before  him.  With  an  im- 
patient gesture  he  removed  his  eyeglasses  and  tipped  back  his 
hat,  which  had  suddenly  become  heavy  upon  his  head. 

While  he  stood  there  a  white  farmer,  his  Indian  wife,  and 
three  halfbreed  children  passed  in  an  old  wooden  cart,  which 
was  drawn  by  a  yoke  of  oxen,  driven  with  bits.  The  farmer 
was  a  sorry  specimen  of  the  shiftless  Tennessee  mountaineer, 
and,  as  he  cracked  his  whip  over  the  heads  of  the  oxen,  and 
then  slapped  his  reins  upon  their  backs,  he  presented  an  absurd 
picture,  which  brought  a  smile  to  Stuart's  lips. 

"  I  see  you  are  laughing  at  old  Bill  Masson,"  said  a  voice. 
"  He's  jest  one  of  those  triflin'  squaw  men."  It  was  John 
Oaktree's  son  who  spoke.  The  young  Indian  had  come  back 
for  a  hitching  strap,  which  had  been  dropped  from  his  father's 
wagon. 

"  A  squaw  man?  "  repeated  Stuart. 

"  Yes,  he's  one  of   those  galvanised   Indians,"  was  the 


A    GALA    DAY   AT   TISHOMINGO          79 

answer,  as  the  lad  picked  up  the  missing  strap.  "  He  be- 
longs to  the  class  of  intermarried  citizens  the  Indians  despise." 

"  Oh,  I  understand,"  said  Stuart.  "  You  mean  that  he 
has  been  adopted  into  the  Nation  because  he  is  the  husband 
of  a  Chickasaw  woman." 

"  Yes.  There  are  so  many  squaw  men  that  our  legislature 
is  going  to  raise  the  marriage  license.  My  father  says  it 
ought  to  be  at  least  a  thousand  dollars,  and  then  every  good- 
for-nothing  white  could  not  afford  to  acquire  the  legal  right 
to  steal  our  lands." 

The  Indian,  whose  speech  showed  that  John  Oaktree  ap- 
preciated the  advantage  of  educating  his  children,  nodded  a 
farewell,  and  ran  after  the  wagon. 

"  I  wonder  if  they  will  call  me  a  '  squaw  man  '  or  a  '  gal- 
vanised Indian,'  "  Stuart  exclaimed  with  a  shudder.  It  had 
not  occurred  to  him  that  it  made  any  difference  what  the 
Chickasaws  might  think  of  his  marriage  to  the  daughter  of 
the  wealthiest  man  in  the  Nation.  According  to  the  tribal 
laws,  he  could  not  become  a  citizen  unless  he  had  been  a 
resident  of  the  Territory  for  two  years  before  his  marriage 
to  a  Chickasaw,  and  then  the  ceremony  had  to  be  performed 
according  to  certain  legal  requirements.  Without  regard  to 
tribal  laws  he  and  Pakali  were  to  be  married  by  the  minister 
who  had  preached  in  the  little  church  on  that  Sunday  that 
seemed  so  long  ago.  It  was  a  comfort  to  think  that  no  one 
could  accuse  him  of  seeking  to  steal  an  inheritance  from  the 
Nation.  Still,  the  incident  jarred  upon  his  nerves,  and  he 
continued  his  journey  without  the  buoyancy  of  spirit  that 
had  marked  the  beginning  of  his  ride. 

It  was  late  when  Stuart  reached  Tishomingo.  It  had  been 
his  hope  to  have  an  hour  or  two  with  Pakali  in  their  nook 
down  by  Pennington  Creek,  but  he  had  barely  time  to  dress 
before  the  noon  hour  appointed  for  the  ceremony.  When  he 
arrived  at  Moma  Binna  he  was  not  permitted  to  see  Pakali 
because  of  a  superstition  that  it  would  be  bad  luck,  and  he 


8o  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

had  to  be  content  to  send  his  gift  to  her  by  one  of  the  servants. 
This  gift,  an  heirloom  from  a  Scottish  ancestor,  was  a 
cairngorn  brooch,  set  with  diamonds.  He  believed  it  was 
something  Pakali  would  appreciate,  and  he  scribbled  a  little 
note  asking  her  to  wear  it  on  her  bridal  gown. 

The  moments  seemed  hours  while  he  waited  for  Pakali  in 
a  little  alcove.  He  was  but  vaguely  conscious  of  the  as- 
sembled guests  who  stood  at  a  little  distance  from  him. 
Once  or  twice,  when  his  glance  wandered,  he  caught  a 
blurred  picture  of  dark-skinned  men  and  women  in  costumes 
oddly  varying  from  the  conventional  models  dictated  by 
fashion  to  the  factory-made  garment  that  the  Indian  makes 
his  own  after  he  has  added  the  touch  of  a  bright  handker- 
chief. 

Governor  Sands's  rugged  face  was  conspicuous,  for  he 
stood  in  the  front  line  of  guests,  close  to  Mrs.  Beaumont, 
who  looked  pale  and  fragile.  Stuart  was  conscious  that  Mrs. 
Maury  was  even  more  gorgeously  arrayed  than  usual.  She 
leaned  upon  the  Judge's  arm,  and  her  face  wore  a  solemn 
expression  which  suggested  that  she  was  looking  forward  to 
her  son's  alliance  with  a  Chickasaw  girl. 

At  last  Pakali  came,  leaning  upon  her  father's  arm.  As 
Stuart  looked  upon  her,  every  emotion  except  love  and  pride 
and  hope  left  him.  She  wore  a  filmy,  white  gown,  the  trail- 
ing folds  of  which  brought  out  the  slender  lines  of  her  lithe 
body.  Her  glossy,  black  hair  was  parted  in  the  fashion  that 
became  her  so  well,  and  its  heavy  coils  were  caught  at  the 
back  with  an  amber  "  tucking  comb  "  that  had  belonged  to 
Hattakowa's  mother.  The  cairngorn  brooch  fastened  the 
lace  fichu  over  her  bosom. 

Pakali's  eyes  shone  with  an  unfaltering  faith  as  they  rested 
upon  the  handsome  face  of  the  man  who  had  chosen  her  as 
the  one  woman  to  whom  he  would  pledge  fealty  until  death. 

The  minister  read  the  service  in  a  droning  voice.  Ab- 
sent-mindedly Stuart  listened  until  he  heard  the  words  that 


8i 

pronounced  him  and  Pakali  man  and  wife.  His  fingers  closed 
over  the  slender  little  hand  upon  which  he  had  placed  the 
wedding  ring  as  a  symbol  of  his  new  obligation  to  care  for 
her  until  death  should  part  them. 

In  a  moment  they  were  surrounded  by  the  friends  who 
hastened  to  wish  them  happiness.  After  Mrs.  Beaumont 
had  kissed  Pakali  and  smiled  upon  Stuart,  even  while  she 
brushed  away  her  tears,  Beaumont  embraced  his  daughter 
in  a  fashion  which  contradicted  the  idea  that  the  Indian  is 
not  demonstrative. 

'  The  white  man  has  made  another  pledge  to  the  In- 
dian," said  Governor  Sands,  placing  one  strong  hand  upon 
Stuart's  shoulder.  "  That  he  will  be  worthy  of  the  trust 
this  Chickasaw  girl  puts  in  him  is  my  hope.  Do  not  let 
Pakali  forget  her  people  when  she  has  lived  for  a  time  as 
one  of  the  white  man's  iksa" 

The  Governor  passed  on,  and  Mrs.  Maury  offered  polite 
greetings.  Her  manner  was  constrained.  It  was  easy  to 
guess  that  she  did  not  approve  of  the  marriage,  but  the 
Judge  made  up  for  her  lack  of  cordiality.  He  proclaimed 
his  right  to  kiss  the  bride,  a  right  Stuart  contested  with 
the  declaration  that  the  bride's  first  kiss  belonged  to  her 
husband ;  and  so  the  Judge  had  to  be  satisfied  with  a  chance 
to  whisper  that  Mrs.  Stuart  must  remember  it  would  be  his 
highest  privilege  to  render  her  loving  service  whenever  the 
opportunity  presented  itself. 

Ogden  Maury  and  Virginia  Mattison  laughed  a  great 
deal  when  they  came  to  offer  congratulations.  With  many 
light  jests  because  the  stranger  had  monopolised  interest  by 
hastening  his  wedding  day  so  that  the  Chickasaw  Nation 
seemed  to  forget  about  the  Maury-Mattison  engagement, 
they  made  way  for  a  tall,  shrivelled  Indian  woman,  whose 
face  bore  deep  lines  of  experience  and  suffering.  Her  hair 
was  slightly  touched  with  grey,  and  her  blazing  black  eyes 
were  set  in  deep  sockets.  The  woman  wore  a  rich  black 


82  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

silk  gown,  fashionably  made,  but  around  her  neck  was  a 
chain  of  barbaric  workmanship,  and  large  earrings  of  ham- 
mered gold  hung  in  her  withered  ears. 

"  Dear  Aunt  Totopehah,  I  am  so  glad  you  are  here!  " 
exclaimed  Pakali,  throwing  her  arms  around  the  woman's 
neck  and  kissing  her  with  almost  as  much  emotion  as  she 
had  shown  when  she  embraced  her  mother.  Turning  to 
Stuart,  she  said: 

"  This  is  Mrs.  Dixon,  Hattakowa's  mother.  You  must 
love  my  Aunt  Totopehah." 

"  Pakali  has  been  a  daughter  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Dixon. 
Her  voice  trembled,  and  she 'added:  "  If  you  are  good  to 
her  you  will'have  the  blessing  of  an  old  woman." 

Mrs.  Dixon  gazed  at  Pakali  for  a  moment.  She  had 
turned  away,  but  the  amber  comb  caught  her  notice. 

"  You  are  indeed  my  Chickasaw  daughter,"  she  said,  smil- 
ing at  Pakali.  "  I  thought  you  would  wear  a  veil,  and  a 
wreath  of  orange  blossoms,  but  you  think  my  girlhood  trinket 
is  ornament  enough  for  a  bride." 

"  I  was  afraid  that  you  would  not  notice  that  I  have  tried 
to  be  true  to  my  Indian  traditions  just  as  far  as  possible," 
Pakali  answered. 

Something  in  the  elder  woman's  face  made  Pakali  leave 
Stuart's  side  to  speak  for  a  moment  with  her  aunt. 

"  Tell  Hattakowa  that  I  go  away  loving  him  as  my 
brother,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Dixon. 

Hattakowa's  mother  made  no  reply.  Putting  her  thin 
hand  upon  Pakali's  shoulder  she  looked  past  the  beautiful 
face  which  was  so  near  to  hers,  and  appeared  to  be  gazing 
into  the  future. 

"Where  is  Hattakowa?"  Pakali  asked,  after  a  moment. 
He  has  gone  north  to  Wyoming  on  a  long  hunting  trip," 
Mrs.  Dixon  answered. 

Beaumont  slipped  his  arm  through  Mrs.  Dixon's,  and, 
bidding  Pakali  to  lead  her  husband  to  the  dining-room,  he 


A   GALA    DAY   AT  TISHOMINGO         83 

placed  his  kinswoman  at  the  table  where  the  wedding  break- 
fast was  served. 

With  the  best  grace  possible  Stuart  endured  the  long 
hours  of  the  afternoon.  According  to  the  Territory  custom 
the  wedding  breakfast  was  an  elaborate  feast,  at  which  there 
was  much  formality.  Sitting  at  the  head  of  the  long,  flower- 
decked  table  beside  Pakali,  the  bridegroom  felt  himself  more 
of  a  spectator  than  a  participant  in  the  festivities. 

The  sunset  time  was  near  before  Pakali,  attired  for  her 
going  away,  said  good-bye  on  the  veranda  of  Moma  Binna. 
The  deep  feeling,  pent  up  during  the  festivities  of  the  day, 
broke  forth  in  various  demonstrations,  which  revealed  to 
Stuart  something  of  the  meaning  of  Pakali's  separation  from 
her  people.  Mrs.  Beaumont,  who  had  been  exceedingly 
brave,  wept  hysterically,  and  Beaumont,  as  he  helped  Pakali 
to  soothe  her,  explained  that  the  Little  Mother  was  ex- 
hausted from  fatigue.  After  a  fashion,  common  even  out- 
side the  Territory,  the  girls  in  the  wedding  party  shed 
tears. 

At  last  Lem,  who  had  had  the  family  carriage  ready  for 
an  hour,  drove  up  before  the  house.  The  servants  were 
lined  along  the  driveway.  To  each  one  Pakali  said  farewell 
with  many  a  handshake.  Last  of  all  she  spoke  to  Mammy 
'Liza,  who  lamented  loudly  because  her  "  chile  "  was  leaving 
her. 

Before  she  would  consent  to  enter  the  carriage  Pakali 
stood  for  a  moment  upon  the  spot  whence  she  could  look 
down  upon  Tishomingo. 

"  I  have  been  very  happy  here,"  she  said,  running  back  to 
the  veranda  of  Moma  Binna  to  give  her  mother  a  last  kiss. 
Stuart  followed  her,  watching  while  she  stood  murmuring 
soft  words  of  endearment  to  her  parents.  At  last  he  had  to 
lead  her  to  the  carriage  because  a  strange  reluctance  to  leave 
home  suddenly  possessed  her. 

"  You  must  not  look  back ;  you  must  look  forward,"  said 


84  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

Stuart,  drawing  Pakali  close  to  him  as  the  carriage  descended 
the  hill  whence  it  passed  into  the  main  street  of  Tishomingo. 
Through  a  mist  of  tears  Pakali  glanced  up  Pennington  Creek 
as  they  crossed  the  rustic  bridge.  The  waters  of  the  turbulent 
stream  made  familiar  music  to  her  ears,  and  she  thought  of 
the  many  days  she  had  passed  in  her  rocky  nook  beside  the 
water's  edge. 

"  I  marked  to-day  with  a  stick  broken  from  my  favourite 
rose  bush."  Pakali's  voice  sounded  as  if  it  were  chanting 
the  rhythm  of  the  water.  '"  There  were  two  buds  and  many 
leaves  on  the  little  twig,  and  the  buds  grew  very  close 
together." 

For  an  answer  Stuart  pressed  her  hand.  Often  he 
found  himself  dumb  when  he  would  respond  to  Pakali's 
poetic  moods.  Now  that  she  had  taken  his  name,  and  was 
going  forth  to  share  his  life,  he  wondered  whether  she  would 
ever  feel  that  he  was  not  worthy  of  the  love  she  gave  him. 
Since  their  betrothal  Pakali  had  been  elusive  and  undemon- 
strative. His  absence  in  Texas  had  prevented  him  from 
knowing  the  Chickasaw  girl  as  she  would  reveal  herself  to 
the  man  who  was  to  be  her  husband,  for  they  had  seen  each 
other  little  after  the  trip  to  Wauchula. 

As  the  carnage  sped  along  the  main  street  of  Tishomingo, 
groups  of  Indians  shouted  greetings  to  Pakali,  who  smiled 
and  waved  her  hand  at  them.  At  the  capitol  grounds  Lem 
stopped  the  horses.  It  was  here  that  Beaumont  had  had 
the  long  tables  spread  for  the  big  feast.  A  few  gourmands 
still  lingered  over  the  meats  and  delicacies,  but  most  of  the 
wedding  guests  were  lounging  beneath  the  trees.  The  women 
hastily  rose  in  order  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  bride  whose 
high-bred  face  and  modish  gown  gave  little  hint  that  she 
belonged  to  the  Nation.  Pakali  waved  her  handkerchief, 
while  Stuart,  with  uncovered  head,  stood  beside  her.  She 
tossed  some  of  the  white  flowers,  that  Virginia  Mattison  had 
put  into  the  carriage,  to  a  group  of  girls,  who  scrambled 


A   GALA    DAY   AT  TISHOMINGO         85 

for  them  and  then  wished  her  happiness  that  would  last  a 
thousand  months. 

Lem  cracked  his  whip.  Again  Stuart  drew  Pakali  close 
to  him,  and  the  carriage  moved  on.  They  were  silent  until 
Tishomingo  was  far  behind  them. 

"  The  Indian  girl  has  left  her  people  to  follow  the  white 
man,"  Pakali  said  softly.  Raising  her  eyes  to  the  sky  that 
was  dyed  in  the  hues  of  sunset,  she  added  in  a  half  question- 
ing tone:  "  We  are  going  toward  the  golden  city,  and  you 
could  not  close  the  gates  upon  me." 

"  If  I  closed  the  gates  I  should  bar  out  happiness  for- 
ever," answered  Stuart,  and  very  reverently  he  kissed  Pakali, 
whispering  that  she  was  his  wife  whom  he  had  just  promised 
to  cherish  until  death  should  part  them. 

The  sky  took  on  a  deeper  hue,  and  a  flaming  cloud,  that 
hung  over  the  horizon,  stretched  until  it  had  set  a  bar  across 
the  face  of  the  sinking  sun. 


CHAPTER   X 

JOY   WAITS   BUT   AN    HOUR 

"  ALL  my  life  I  have  been  taught  that  no  one  can  be  perfectly 
happy  in  this  world,  but  now  I  know  that  even  the  Little 
Mother,  who  preaches  that  doctrine,  is  wrong." 

Pakali  spoke  as  she  stood  upon  the  rustic  steps  of  the  log 
ranch  house  in  which  she  and  Arnold  Stuart  had  been  passing 
the  fortnight  that  had  elapsed  since  their  marriage.  It  had 
been  her  wish  that  she  might  become  accustomed  to  the 
thought  of  belonging  to  the  white  man  before  she  had  to 
adjust  herself  to  the  more  far-reaching  idea  that  she  belonged 
to  the  white  man's  people. 

"  So  you  do  not  repent  because  you  have  chosen  to  follow 
me  far  away  from  the  Chickasaw  Nation  ?  "  said  Stuart, 
going  to  her  from  the  comfortable  armchair  in  which  he  had 
been  lounging. 

She  put  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  then,  with  a  half 
shy  gesture,  stroked  his  fair  hair. 

"  Our  love  is  such  a  wonderful  revelation  that  one  cannot 
reason  about  it,"  she  answered.  "  Whatever  happens  I  shall 
be  always  grateful  to  the  Ruler  of  all  things  because  I  have 
been  given  these  days  alone  with  you."  Resting  her  head 
upon  his  shoulder  Pakali  pondered  for  a  moment.  "  The 
day  we  were  married  I  thought  I  loved  you,  for  you  were 
the  only  man  who  reached  my  ideal  of  a  husband,  but  now 
you  have  made  yourself  all  of  life  to  me.  It  was  as  Hatta- 
kowa  said,  I  thought  and  felt  as  a  white  woman  thinks  and 
feels,  and  none  of  the  young  men  of  my  people  could  touch 
my  heart.  When  you  came,  something  in  you  satisfied  me, 
but  I  tried  to  remember  that  you  did  not  think  of  me  except 
as  a  new  type  of  a  woman." 

86 


JOY   WAITS    BUT    AN    HOUR  87 

"  Foolish  Pakali !  "  exclaimed  Stuart. 

"  No,  I  was  not  foolish,  and  even  now  I  cannot  quite 
understand  why  you  were  so  determined  about  hastening  our 
marriage." 

"  I  married  you  because  it  has  always  been  my  custom  to 
obey  my  ruling  impulse.  After  I  was  separated  from  you 
for  a  day  I  knew  that  I  must  win  you  before  I  could  con- 
centrate my  mind  upon  any  other  ambition  in  the  world." 

Through  his  glasses  Stuart  looked  down  upon  Pakali  with 
admiring  eyes,  but  she  .returned  his  glance  with  a  look  of 
apprehension. 

"  Your  confession  frightens  me,"  she  said.  "  I  do  not 
want  to  believe  that  you  are  always  impetuous  and  easily 
influenced  by  caprice." 

"  How  serious  my  little  wife  has  become,"  replied  Stuart, 
laughing  in  his  careless,  boyish  way.  "  You  shall  guide  my 
caprices  so  that  their  indulgence  may  be  safe." 

"  Sometimes  I  have  wondered  whether  you  do  not  take 
life  as  a  playtime."  Pakali  put  one  hand  upon  Stuart's 
ruddy  cheek  and  studied  the  outlines  of  his  handsome  face. 
"  The  Indians  think  that  a  cleft  chin  signifies  a  self-indul- 
gent spirit." 

"  A  cleft  chin  signifies  that  I  have  a  wonderful  capacity 
for  love." 

"  In  the  years  that  are  to  come  I  may  measure  tthe  height 
and  depth  of  your  lov£,"  said  Pakali,  stepping  away  from 
her  husband,  "  but  now  I  know  you  have  the  power  to  kindle 
in  my  heart  a  love  that  dominates  my  whole  nature." 

Into  her  eyes  had  come  the  solemn  look  that  Stuart  had 
noticed  when  he  had  studied  the  child's  portrait  on  the  morn- 
ing after  his  arrival  at  Moma  Binna. 

"  New  emotions  stir  in  me,"  she  went  on ;  "  like  my  great- 
grandmother  of  the  Chickasaws  I  am  ready  to  serve  you 
humbly  one  moment,  and  the  next  I  know  the  Indian  spirit 
of  revenge  when,  in  a  vagrant  dream,  I  imagine  how  it  might 


88  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

have  been  if  you  had  gone  away  to  your  golden  city  without 
me." 

"Why,  dear  heart,  how  grave  you  have  become!"  ex- 
claimed Stuart.  "  A  moment  ago  you  were  telling  me  that 
you  were  perfectly  happy,  and  now  your  words  contradict 
that  statement." 

He  put  his  arms  around  her  and  held  her  close  to  him.  He 
kissed  her  lips  and  felt  her  quickened  breath  upon  his  cheek. 
Trembling,  she  gave  herself  up  to  the  joy  of  the  moment. 
The  passion  of  the  savage  woman  who  has  not  learned  to 
disguise  her  natural  feelings  shone  in  her  dark  eyes.  Look- 
ing into  her  face  Stuart  read  something  that  caused  him 
to  put  her  from  him  as  if  he  dared  not  fathom  the  depths 
of  her  emotion. 

"  Come,  let  us  go  out  to  ride,"  he  said.  "  We  have  been 
borrowing  troubles.  We  have  been  entirely  too  sober- 
minded.  You  know  I  cannot  bear  to  contemplate  any  but 
the  pleasantest  possibilities."  He  laughed  happily,  and  she 
let  him  conduct  her  to  the  stile  beyond  which  their  horses 
were  tethered. 

"  Forgive  my  inconsistent  mood,  Arnold."  Pakali  stopped 
on  the  top  of  the  stile  to  gather  her  habit  about  her.  Her 
voice  lingered  upon  the  name  that  was  new  to  her  tongue. 
She  smiled  back  at  him  and  said,  slowly: 

"  Love  is  teaching  me  that  a  woman's  emotions  are  much 
more  complex  than  a  man's." 

"  Than  a  girl's,  you  mean,"  corrected  Stuart ;  "  for  you 
cannot  know  all  I  feel  when  I  realise  that  you  belong  to 
me " 

"  Forever  and  ever,"  finished  Pakali.  "  We  Indians  love 
but  once,  and  that  love  lasts  beyond  the  hour  of  death." 

It  had  been  the  plan  of  Stuart  and  Pakali  to  drive  the  next 
day  to  Ardmore,  a  flourishing  town  which  was  the  nearest 
railway  point,  and  there  to  meet  a  northbound  train  that 
would  take  them  to  Chicago. 


JOY   WAITS   BUT   AN    HOUR  89 

Stuart  had  not  announced  his  marriage  to  his  mother,  who 
was  in  Paris,  nor  to  his  friends  in  Chicago.  He  and  Pakali 
had  agreed  that  it  would  be  wiser  not  to  create  a  sensation 
by  sending  North  the  news  that  Arnold  Stuart  had  married 
an  Indian  girl. 

"  When  they  see  you,  Pakali,  they  will  think  you  are  of 
Spanish  descent,"  Stuart  had  said.  "  Indeed,  my  mother 
might  accept  you  as  one  of  her  much-loved  Parisiennes.  We 
shall  have  much  enjoyment  out  of  the  surprise  you  will  give 
my  ignorant  friends  who  imagine  that  the  Chickasaws  are 
still  savages." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Beaumont  had  not  liked  the  idea  that  Stuart 
should  delay  publishing  in  Chicago  the  notice  of  his  marriage, 
but  they  had  consented  to  permit  a  postponement  of  the  an- 
nouncement because  it  was  their  pleasure  to  humour  Pakali, 
who  had  shrunk  from  the  idea  that  Stuart's  friends  might  be 
prejudiced  against  her. 

Inasmuch  as  Stuart  had  desired  to  start  for  Chicago  im- 
mediately after  the  ceremony,  and  he  had  delayed  the  trip 
in  obedience  to  Pakali's  wish,  his  marriage  would  have  been 
made  known  within  a  few  days  had  he  consulted  only  his 
own  impulses.  He  had  been  away  from  his  business  so  long 
that  he  felt  an  impatience  to  return.  While  he  was  bent 
upon  winning  Pakali  for  his  own,  he  had  put  his  professional 
cares  out  of  his  mind,  but  as  soon  as  he  was  sure  that  the 
girl  he  loved  was  safely  bound  to  him  he  began  to  think  of 
the  busy  world  in  which  he  had  a  place.  The  fortnight 
on  the  ranch  had  brought  to  him  all  the  joy  that  belongs  to 
the  realisation  of  a  man's  dream  of  love.  The  sunshiny  days 
had  drifted  by  so  quietly  that  with  surprise  he  noted  the  end- 
ing of  the  two  weeks,  but,  because  civilised  man  has  a  limited 
capacity  for  sentiment,  Stuart  had  found  time  to  remember 
some  of  the  prosaic  interests  of  his  life.  Even  while  he  and 
Pakali  had  talked  together  out  in  the  moonlight,  where  the 
trees  cast  long  shadows  upon  the  waving  grasses,  he  had 


90  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

spoken  of  the  material  ambitions  concerning  the  acquirement 
of  political  place  and  professional  success. 

As  Stuart  rode  with  Pakali  on  this  last  morning  of  their 
sojourn  in  the  new  Eden,  he  talked  of  the  pleasures  of  a  large 
city.  Although  Pakali  shook  her  head  when  he  promised 
that  she  should  be  made  happy  by  a  round  of  operas  and  balls 
and  dinners  that  would  cause  her  to  forget  the  simple  recrea- 
tions of  the  Territory,  the  young  wife  listened  with  happy 
interest  because  she  meant  to  fulfil  all  the  requirements  of 
her  changed  position  in  life. 

It  was  noon  when  Stuart  and  Pakali  returned  to  the  log 
house,  where  the  one  negro  servant  had  been  packing  Stuart's 
guns  and  fishing  tackle.  At  the  stile  Lem  waited  with  a  note 
from  Moma  Binna. 

"  Is  it  bad  news?  "  questioned  Pakali,  and  Lem  answered 
that  the  missus  was  sick  at  Moma  Binna. 

Stuart  read  the  note,  which  summoned  Pakali  to  Mrs. 
Beaumont's  bedside.  The  Little  Mother  had  had  a  stroke 
of  paralysis,  Beaumont  wrote,  breaking  the  news  as  gently 
as  possible.  The  carriage  was  waiting,  and,  within  an  hour, 
Stuart  and  Pakali  were  on  their  way  back  to  Tishomingo. 
It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  Moma  Binna  was 
reached. 

"  It  seems  as  if  I  had  been  away  two  years  instead  of  two 
weeks,"  Pakali  exclaimed,  when  she  saw  the  roof  of  Moma 
Binna. 

"  I  thought  the  fortnight  seemed  more  like  two  days," 
answered  Stuart,  with  a  tone  of  reproach  in  his  voice. 

"  You  don't  understand  me."  Pakali  stopped  to  gaze  at 
her  girlhood's  home,  slowly  noting  every  familiar  detail  of 
the  house  and  grounds.  "  Each  day  since  we  were  married 
has  gone  by  too  quickly,  but  I  have  lived  much  in  loving  you. 
I  went  away  a  careless  girl.  I  have  come  back  feeling  that 
life  means  more  than  just  waiting  for  each  day's  happen- 
ings." 


JOY  WAITS   BUT   AN    HOUR  91 

Stuart  put  his  arm  around  her.  "  It  will  shock  you  to 
find  your  mother  ill,"  he  told  her,  "  but  I  am  sure  you  will 
be  brave." 

Beaumont  came  to  meet  them.  His  brown  face  was  hag- 
gard, he  walked  slowly  and  appeared  greatly  aged. 

"  Is  the  Little  Mother  very  ill  ?  "  asked  Pakali,  running 
into  his  arms  and  kissing  him  again  and  again. 

"  She  is  quite  helpless,"  Beaumont  answered,  in  a  husky 
voice.  "  She  was  tired  after  the  wedding,  and  she  missed 
our  Chickasaw  Flower.  To-day,  when  she  was  reading  the 
Bible  at  morning  prayer,  she  had  what  we  thought  was  a 
fainting  fit.  Mammy  'Liza  was  the  first  to  notice  that  some- 
thing was  the  matter.  Luckily,  however,  Dr.  Briggs,  of 
Wauchula,  happened  to  be  in  Tishomingo,  and  he  has  done 
all  he  can." 

They  had  walked  up  the  path  to  the  house  and  Pakali  went 
in  to  her  mother,  who  lay  in  a  white-curtained  bed.  Mrs. 
Beaumont  recognised  her  daughter,  and,  although  the  power 
of  speech  was  denied  her,  there  was  a  loving  welcome  in  her 
eyes.  Mammy  'Liza  had  made  Pakali  take  off  her  hat 
before  she  entered  the  sick  woman's  room,  and  Mrs.  Beau- 
mont appeared  to  forget  that  there  had  been  a  wedding  at 
Moma  Binna.  With  Pakali's  hand  in  hers  she  fell  asleep. 

Through  the  next  week  Stuart  waited  patiently  in  the 
hope  that  Mrs.  Beaumont's  condition  would  improve.  While 
Pakali  and  the  servants  nursed  the  sick  woman  he  passed 
many  hours  alone.  He  had  a  rare  talent  for  sympathy,  and 
he  comforted  Pakali  with  a  tenderness  that  made  her  tell  him 
again  and  again  that  she  was  the  most  blessed  of  women. 

"  It  is  wonderful  how  much  I  belong  to  you,"  Pakali  said 
one  evening,  when  she  had  lightly  stolen  up  behind  her 
husband's  chair  to  surprise  him  by  putting  her  arms  around 
his  neck.  "  Since  I  came  home  it  is  as  if  I  were  an  outsider. 
Moma  Binna  can  never  be  quite  the  same  to  me.  I  have  been 
away  many  months  at  school,  but  always  I  returned  as  my 


92  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

father's  daughter,  and  now  my  relation  to  you  makes  such  a 
difference!  " 

"  Surely  you  have  not  forgotten  that  you  are  an  Indian!  " 
Stuart  said,  with  a  smile,  as  he  took  one  of  her  hands  from 
beneath  his  chin  to  kiss  it  tenderly.  Holding  it  before  him 
he  looked  at  the  palm  and  pretended  to  read  her  fortune. 

"  The  lines  say  that  your  heart  rules  your  head,"  he 
jested.  "  Your  life  is  to  be  long  and  useful,  but  your  destiny 
is  obscured  by  angles  that  only  an  adept  could  understand." 

"  My  heart  did  guide  me  when  I  chose  a  husband,"  Pakali 
admitted;  "  but  whatever  my  destiny,  I  shall  not  complain 
since  I  have  found  love." 

Stuart  still  held  her  hand.  "  What  long,  tapering  fingers 
you  have,"  he  said,  admiring  the  almond-shaped  nails.  "  And 
your  hands  are  very  small." 

"  Small  hands  and  feet  are  the  heritage  of  the  race  that 
has  never  worked,"  laughed  Pakali.  "  But  I  mean  to  show 
you  that  at  least  one  Indian  can  be  very  industrious.  I  know 
how  busy  your  Chicago  women  are,  and  I  shall  try  to  be  so 
much  like  them  that  you  will  soon  forget  you  have  married 
a  Chickasaw." 

"  But  I  don't  wish  you  to  be  like  the  Chicago  women," 
objected  her  husband.  "  I  should  hate  to  have  you  going  to 
clubs  and  joining  reform  organisations.  I  warn  you  that 
I  don't  want  you  to  establish  a  Sequoia  League  for  the 
amelioration  of  the  condition  of  the  Indian.  I  co^ld  not 
bear  to  have  your  picture  in  the  Sunday  newspapers."/ 

"  If  I  ever  start  any  Indian  reform  it  will  be  a  society  for 
the  prevention  of  the  sale  of  beaded  plush  capes  and  picture 
hats  to  the  women  of  the  Nation.  There  is  a  shocking  waste 
of  money  among  the  fullbloods." 

She  laughed  again  and  ran  away,  leaving  Stuart  to  wish, 
for  the  hundredth  time  within  the  hour,  that  he  might  soon 
take  her  where  he  could  have  her  all  to  himself.  But  this 
desire  was  not  to  be  granted.  Nearly  a  month  passed.  The 


JOY   WAITS    BUT    AN    HOUR  93 

heat  of  an   Indian  Territory  mid-summer  became  terribly 
oppressive,  and  the  paralytic  patient  lost  strength  appreciably. 

Stuart  received  many  letters  from  his  law  partners.  Each 
letter  became  more  insistent  that  his  prolonged  absence  should 
be  explained,  and  all  urged  his  return  to  his  work.  At  last 
there  came  a  letter  which  could  not  be  put  aside.  It  bore  a 
foreign  postmark,  and  it  had  been  forwarded  from  Chicago. 
The  superscription  was  in  his  mother's  familiar  handwriting. 
On  three  sheets  of  note  paper,  which  bore  an  elaborate  mono- 
gram, Mrs.  Stuart  begged  that  her  son  would  start  for  Paris 
without  delay,  as  she  was  about  to  submit  to  a  serious  surgical 
operation.  There  were  many  paragraphs  of  complaint  be- 
cause of  her  dear  Arnold's  spasmodic  correspondence.  Now 
that  her  life  hung  in  the  balance,  no  time  must  be  lost  if  her 
only  son  would  make  amends  for  recent  neglectfulness.  Stuart 
had  not  contemplated  the  possibility  that  his  mother  would 
call  him  across  the  ocean  to  her.  He  had  never  borrowed 
trouble,  but  when  trouble  came  he  was  often  completely  over- 
whelmed by  it.  He  put  his  mother's  letter  into  his  pocket 
and  waited  all  day  before  he  could  summon  courage  to  tell 
Pakali  about  it.  He  thought  seriously  of  declining  to  make 
the  trip.  He  and  his  mother  never  had  been  in  close  sym- 
pathy. He  knew  he  could  be  of  no  material  help  to  her, 
and  his  peculiar  nature  made  him  desirous  of  avoiding  the 
anxiety  necessarily  entailed  by  the  ordeal  to  which  his  mother 
would  have  to  submit. 

Walking  in  the  twilight,  with  Pakali's  hand  in  his,  Stuart 
told  his  young  wife  about  the  letter.  Omitting  all  comment, 
he  asked  her  what  answer  he  should  send.  Pakali  stopped, 
and,  pressing  her  hands  to  her  heart,  looked  at  Stuart  with 
a  terrible  fear  in  her  eyes. 

"  There  is  but  one  answer,"  she  said  in  a  frightened  voice. 
'  You  must  go  to  your  mother."     She  was  silent  for  a  mo- 
ment.    "  And  I  must  stay  here  with  mine,"  she  said,  as  if 
pronouncing  sentence  upon  herself. 


94  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

"  I  could  not  go  without  you,  Pakali,"  declared  Stuart. 
"  I  have  hardly  known  how  to  live  during  those  days  when 
you  were  shut  away  from  me  in  your  mother's  room.  And 
do  you  think  I  could  cross  the  ocean  without  you?  I  shall 
be  so  proud  to  take  you  to  my  mother,  and  I  could  not  let 
her  die  without  seeing  you." 

"  The  Little  Mother  is  just  waiting  on  the  borderland 
between  this  world  and  the  next,"  Pakali  answered  with  a 
sob,  "  and  I  could  not  leave  her.  I  could  not  leave  her." 

Stuart  put  his  strong  arms  around  her.  "  There,  do  not 
shed  one  tear  because  you  think  you  are  to  be  left  alone,  my 
love,  my  wife!  Don't  you  know  that  you  are  more  to  me 
than  all  the  world,  more  than  mother  or  friend?  If  you  can- 
not go  with  me  I  shall  stay  here  in  the  Territory." 

He  tried  to  kiss  away  the  tears,  and  Pakali  clung  to  him 
until  she  had  gained  courage  from  his  soothing  assurances. 

"  See  how  much  of  a  white  woman  I  am,"  she  said,  pres- 
ently. "  If  I  had  the  true  Chickasaw  spirit  I  would  send 
you  across  the  world  and  you  would  never  know  that  I  was 
grieving  every  moment  that  you  were  away  from  me.  But  I 
shall  show  you  that  I  am  worthy  to  be  your  wife,  for  I  shall 
be  brave  to-morrow." 

"  Let  to-morrow  take  care  of  itself,"  Stuart  answered. 
"  To-night  it  is  enough  to  know  that  we  will  let  nothing 
part  us." 

They  continued  their  walk.  Pakali  spoke  little,  even 
though  Stuart  told  her  in  a  dozen  ways  that  he  intended  to 
remain  at  Moma  Binna  as  long  as  she  was  needed  there. 

"  Tell  me  that  you  have  no  more  fears  about  our  separa- 
tion," insisted  Stuart,  as  they  entered  the  living  room  after 
the  candles  had  been  lighted. 

"  I  shall  have  more  courage  to-morrow  morning,"  Pakali 
replied.  "  The  Little  Mother  has  taught  me  to  pray  when 
I  need  strength  to  decide  any  question."  She  sank  upon  the 
seat  near  the  fireplace,  where  the  shadow  hid  her,  just  as  it 


JOY   WAITS    BUT    AN    HOUR  95 

had    hidden    her   on    the   night   when    Beaumont    told    the 
story  of  Hattakowa's  ring. 

"  Arnold,  dear,"  she  said,  softly,  "  since  our  marriage  I 
have  the  right  to  a  mother's  point  of  view.  If  some  day  I 
should  have  a  son,  and  should  call  to  him  across  the  Great 
Waters,  it  would  break  my  heart  if  he  did  not  heed  my  cry. 
It  is  my  right  to  help  you  to  obey  your  mother's  command. 
You  must  leave  Moma  Binna  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER   XI 
THE   LONG   JOURNEY 

PAKALI  had  her  way;  because  it  was  the  right  way.  Stuart 
decided  that  he  must  make  the  long  trip  to  Europe.  The 
next  morning  was  spent  in  preparations  for  the  journey. 
While  she  calmly  chose  the  few  things  her  husband  might 
leave  at  Moma  Binna,  Pakali  showed  the  impassivity  of  the 
Indian.  His  guns  and  some  of  the  books  he  had  collected 
during  his  sojourn  in  the  Territory  were  put  aside.  His 
broad-brimmed,  light  slouch  hat  was  allowed  to  remain  hang- 
ing upon  the  antlers  in  the  living  room;  his  canvas  hunting 
suit  was  left  on  its  hook  in  the  closet  of  his  sleeping  room; 
his  spurs  were  replaced  upon  the  brass  hook  beside  his  dress- 
ing table. 

After  the  servants  had  carried  out  the  small  trunk  and  the 
travelling  bags,  Pakali  sank  upon  a  stool  in  the  bay  window 
of  her  husband's  bedroom.  Here,  since  her  marriage,  she  had 
often  sat  beside  Stuart's  armchair.  As  she  looked  about  the 
disordered  apartment  she  realised  how  its  emptiness  would 
make  her  heart  ache  in  the  days  that  were  to  come.  It 
opened  out  of  the  little  white  alcove  chamber  that  had  been 
hers  ever  since  her  childhood,  and  both  apartments  had  doors 
leading  to  the  broad  veranda. 

*"  I  do  not  know  how  I  shall  live  when  you  are  gone," 
Pakali  said,  with  a  little  quiver  of  the  lips.  "  It  seems  now 
as  if  I  had  always  belonged  to  you — as  if  I  had  never  lived 
until  I  felt  the  touch  of  your  hand." 

Stuart  knelt  beside  her. 

"  Now  that  it  is  time  for  me  to  go  away  I  am  ready  to 
change  my  mind,"  he  declared,  taking  both  her  hands,  and 
drawing  her  head  down  to  him  so  that  he  could  kiss  her. 

96 


97 

"  We  could  not  be  happy  together  if  either  of  us  ignored 
duty,"  Pakali  answered  in  a  trembling  voice.  "  But,  oh, 
Moma  Binna  will  be  empty  without  you.  Still,  you  will 
dwell  in  the  house  of  my  heart.  There  I  have  the  door 
closed  upon  you  so  that  you  can  never  go  away." 

"  Suppose  I  should  forget  to  come  back  to  my  Chickasaw 
wife!  "  Stuart  kissed  Pakali  as  he  spoke  in  jest,  but  when 
there  wras  a  look  of  terror  in  the  big,  dark  eyes  that  gazed 
into  his,  he  made  haste  to  say :  "  You  know  I  could  not 
forget  you  even  if  I  tried,  for  you  hold  me  by  a  spell  of 
witchery  that  I  could  never  overcome." 

"  Even  though  you  never  came  back  to  me,  still  I  would 
keep  you  in  the  house  of  my  heart.  Though  you  might  grow 
old  there,  and  become  a  stranger,  I  would  detain  you  as  my 
guest  long  after  you  ceased  to  be  my  husband.  Love  brings 
to  the  door  of  an  Indian  woman's  heart  only  one  pilgrim  who 
may  enter." 

"  How  safe  you  make  me  feel!  "  Stuart  exclaimed,  clasp- 
ing her  in  his  arms.  "  Once  or  twice  to-day  I  have  been 
almost  afraid  to  let  you  wait  for  me  in  Tishomingo,  when 
Hattakowa  is  so  near." 

Pakali  drew  away  and  flashed  an  indignant  glance  at  him 
as  she  answered: 

"  Among  the  Chickasaws,  men  and  women  hold  the  mar- 
riage bond  in  reverence.  We  Indians  are  not  yet  civilised 
enough  to  be  untrue  to  our  pledges.  My  ancestors  put  to 
death  every  woman  in  the  Nation  who  was  unfaithful,  and 
Hattakowa  respects  the  tradition  which  forbids  one  man  to 
covet  another  man's  wife." 

"  Dear  one,  I  did  not  mean  to  offend  you,"  her  husband 
apologised,  "  but  it  was  worth  while  since  I  am  weak  enough 
now  to  want  all  sorts  of  comforting  assurances." 

"  You  will  need  years  of  example  and  precept  before  you 
can  understand  the  Indian  characteristics."  Pakali  shook 
her  head  as  if  she  found  her  husband  a  slow  pupil.  "  When 


98  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

I  go  away  with  you  I  must  be  ever  conscious  of  the  fact  that 
the  reputation  of  my  people  is  at  stake."  Pakali  put  her  arms 
around  her  husband's  neck.  "  We  have  no  time  to  waste," 
she  said ;  "  I  want  to  say  good-bye  to  you  here." 

"  Good-bye  is  a  word  I  never  use.  Don't  say  good-bye, 
it  is  just  au  revoir." 

"  And  I  don't  like  the  French  words  you  use.  When  the 
government  at  Washington  gave  this  land  to  my  people  the 
promise  ran  that  it  should  be  ours  '  as  long  as  water  runs 
and  grass  grows.'  It  is  the  form  of  pledge  that  means  most 
to  the  Indian  who  lives  close  to  nature,  so  I  say  to  you  'as 
long  as  water  runs  and  grass  grows'  I  will  love  you,  and 
longer,  for  love  outlasts  earthly  things." 

"  You  make  me  feel  my  unworthiness,"  Stuart  said,  with  a 
rush  of  deep  emotion.  Like  a  child  at  its  mother's  knee  he 
put  his  face  down  upon  her  lap.  They  were  silent  for  a 
moment.  Pakali  stroked  her  husband's  fair  hair. 

"  It  is  your  love,  Arnold,  that  has  given  me  holy  visions," 
she  whispered. 

Stuart  looked  up  to  behold  in  her  face  a  supreme  exalta- 
tion. Then  he  raised  her  from  her  place  and  held  her  close 
to  his  heart  until  a  voice  outside  proclaimed  that  it  was  time 
for  him  to  leave  Moma  Binna. 

After  Stuart  had  said  farewell  to  everyone  in  the  house- 
hold, he  and  Pakali  walked  down  the  path  to  the  ledge 
where  they  had  first  met.  Here  they  kissed  each  other  for 
the  last  time. 

Stuart  would  have  turned  back  even  then,  but  Pakali 
gently  sent  him  away. 

As  Pakali  watched  the  carriage  descend  the  driveway  and 
speed  down  the  main  street  of  Tishomingo,  she  waved  her 
hand  at  her  husband,  who,  looking  back  at  her,  beheld  a  pic- 
ture that  remained  vivid  long  after  the  Indian  Territory  had 
become  a  far-off  memory. 

Week  after  week  of  the  hot  summer  dragged  by.     Pakali, 


THE    LONG  JOURNEY  99 

who  suffered  agonies  of  loneliness  at  first,  gradually  became 
listless  and  pathetically  patient  as  she  watched  at  her  mother's 
bedside.  Letters  from  Stuart  now  and  then  aroused  her 
from  her  lethargy  and  revived  her  spirits.  She  followed 
every  stage  of  his  long  journey,  tracing  his  route  upon  the 
map  in  the  big  atlas  that  her  father  kept  in  the  living  room. 
Notes  telling  her  of  her  husband's  love,  and  declaring  that 
he  would  live  only  for  the  happy  day  when  he  should  return 
to  Pakali,  came  from  Guthrie,  Kansas  City,  and  Chicago. 
Then  from  New  York  arrived  a  long  letter  enclosing  seven 
separately  folded  pages,  which  were  to  be  opened  on  the  days 
when  he  would  be  on  the  ocean. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  the  envelope  with  a  Paris  post- 
mark reached  Tishomingo.  In  many  closely  written  pages 
Stuart  described  how  he  had  passed  the  days  of  his  voyage  in 
dreaming  of  the  wife  who  was  more  beautiful  than  any 
woman  he  had  seen  in  his  travels.  Pakali  read  the  letter 
many  times,  and,  while  it  told  her  all  that  her  heart  craved, 
it  left  her  with  a  sense  of  Stuart's  aloofness  from  her.  This 
impression  was  due  partly  to  the  fact  of  her  realisation  that  he 
was  once  more  among  the  old  influences  which  had  moulded 
his  life,  for  he  mentioned  casually  his  mother's  friend,  Miss 
Eleanor  Dudley,  a  young  woman  of  social  prominence  in  the 
American  colony  of  the  French  capital.  The  surgical  oper- 
ation that  had  been  the  cause  of  his  unexpected  trip  had  been 
delayed  for  several  weeks  until  Mrs.  Stuart  could  gain 
strength. 

Meanwhile,  Stuart  complained  that  it  would  be  dull, 
even  in  Paris,  during  the  midsummer  season.  In  a  post- 
script, which  was  plainly  an  after-thought,  Stuart  told 
Pakali  that,  owing  to  his  mother's  highly  nervous  condition, 
he  had  delayed  the  announcement  of  his  marriage.  That 
was  why  there  were  not  special  messages  from  Mrs.  Stuart 
and  Miss  Dudley,  who  would  be  sure  to  love  his  Chickasaw 
bride  when  he  took  her  to  his  Chicago  home. 


ioo  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

Pakali  put  the  letter,  which  gave  her  such  strange  unrest, 
into  the  bosom  of  her  gown,  and  walked  far  out  upon  the 
hills.  Passing  cotton  fields  where  the  bolls  were  white  in 
their  snowy  wealth,  she  paused  to  listen  to  the  song  of  a 
belated  mocking  bird.  The  limpid  notes  broke  the  silence 
of  the  early  evening  and  recalled  moments  when  she  and 
Stuart  had  paused  to  enjoy  the  song  of  the  Southland  bird 
that  at  night  often  awakens  to  trill  a  dreamy  melody. 

The  familiar  sound  of  the  bird  song  opened  the  flood- 
gates of  her  heart,  and,  as  she  turned  to  climb  a  hilly  path, 
she  looked  through  her  tears  at  the  darkening  sky  while  she 
breathed  a  little  prayer  for  strength  with  which  to  endure  the 
enforced  separation  from  her  husband. 

High  up  on  the  hillside  she  threw  herself  upon  the  ground 
where  the  pine  needles  had  made  a  soft  carpet,  and  here  she 
wept  until  the  soothing  forces  of  nature  quieted  her  perturbed 
spirit.  It  was  twilight  in  the  woods  when  she  arose  to  re- 
trace her  steps  toward  home.  As  she  stood  in  the  shadows 
of  the  trees  she  heard  the  tread  of  a  horse  that  was  slowly 
coming  down  the  rocky  trail.  She  drew  back  in  order  to  let 
the  rider  pass  without  recognising  her.  When  near  her,  the 
horseman  stopped  to  listen,  as  if  he  were  conscious  of  her 
presence.  Then  she  saw  that  it  was  Hattakowa,  but  she  did 
not  speak  to  him.  In  a  moment  he  was  out  of  the  saddle, 
and,  true  to  his  Indian  instincts,  examining  the  trail.  Turn- 
ing toward  Pakali  he  quickly  found  her. 

"  Why,  Pakali,  would  you  have  let  me  pass  you  ?  "  Hatta- 
kowa asked,  standing  before  her  with  uncovered  head. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered.  "  You  have  not  been  to 
Moma  Binna  for  so  long  that  I  have  the  right  to  think  that 
you  do  not  care  to  see  me." 

"  You  are  speaking  as  the  white  woman  speaks,"  he  replied, 
in  a  tone  of  rebuke.  "  Surely  you  know  that  I  have  stayed 
away  from  your  house  because  I  thought  I  had  not  the 
strength  to  behold  you  as  the  wife  of  another  man.  I  meant 


THE    LONG   JOURNEY  101 

that  you  should  go  away  before  I  should  come  again  to 
Moma  Binna." 

Even  as  he  spoke  he  turned  his  eyes  away,  but  when  Pakali 
made  no  reply  he  glanced  at  her  long  enough  to  understand 
that  she  had  been  weeping. 

"  Is  your  mother  worse?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered,  and  then,  because  she  had  never  kept 
any  secret  from  Hattakowa,  she  explained :  "  A  letter  from 
Arnold,  who  is  in  Paris,  caused  me  to  feel  lonely  and  far  off 
from  him.  It  is  a  beautiful  letter,  but  it  makes  me  realise 
that  it  must  be  months  before  he  can  come  back  to  me." 

"  What  are  a  few  moons  ?  "  Hattakowa  asked,  obeying  the 
old  impulse  to  comfort  her  whenever  she  was  in  trouble. 
"  The  crescent  will  come  in  the  sky,  it  will  widen  to  the 
full  circle,  and  it  will  wane  quickly  if  you  will  but  cease  to 
count  each  separate  day." 

Pakali  had  begun  to  move  toward  the  trail,  and  Hattakowa 
put  out  his  hand  as  if  he  would  help  her  in  making  the 
descent,  but,  distrustful  of  himself,  he  drew  back  lest,  touch- 
ing her,  he  might  forget  that  she  belonged  to  another  man. 
He  drew  his  horse's  bridle  through  his  arm,  and  together 
they  walked  back  to  Moma  Binna. 

After  that  night  Hattakowa  came  and  went  as  freely  as  if 
Pakali's  marriage  had  not  touched  his  life.  His  visits  were 
pleasant  diversion  to  Pakali,  even  though  she  seldom  talked 
to  him. 

The  Little  Mother  drooped  more  and  more  each  day,  and 
Beaumont,  who  never  before  had  known  fear,  often  had  a 
look  of  terror  in  his  eyes  when  he  came  out  of  the  quiet  room 
where  the  fragile  little  woman  lay  dying.  Mammy  'Liza, 
acting  as  chief  nurse,  saw  that  the  time  was  near  when  the 
Little  Mother  would  go  away  from  Moma  Binna  forever. 
The  old  negress  persuaded  Pakali  to  send  for  her  Aunt 
Totopehah. 

One  evening,  after  family  prayers  had  been  said  in  Mrs. 


102  THE    MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

Beaumont's  bedroom,  the  Little  Mother  lay  with  one  thin, 
white  hand  clasped  in  her  husband's  big  palm,  and  the  other 
resting  upon  Pakali,  who  had  crept  close  to  her  on  the  bed. 
Now  and  then  the  sick  woman  opened  her  eyes,  in  which 
shone  the  light  of  peace  and  hope.  Drowsily,  she  strove 
to  speak,  but  when  she  could  not  articulate,  her  eyes  told  the 
loving  messages  she  would  have  spoken. 

The  brief  twilight  faded,  and  Pakali  whispered  that  her 
mother  had  fallen  asleep.  Softly  she  lifted  the  hand  that 
rested  upon  her,  and  slipped  around  to  where  she  could  put 
her  arms  about  her  father's  neck.  Together  they  sat  there 
a  long  time,  until  the  physician  came  in  to  make  his  nightly 
call. 

A  servant,  lighting  one  of  the  shaded  candles,  held  it  near 
the  Little  Mother's  face. 

"  She  does  not  need  me,"  the  physician  said,  turning  to 
Beaumont  and  Pakali,  who  slowly  comprehended  that  the 
Little  Mother  had  gone  forth  to  the  Great  Spirit. 


CHAPTER   XII 

FATHER   AND    DAUGHTER 

HALF  a  year  had  gone  by  since  the  Little  Mother  went  away 
from  Moma  Binna,  leaving  Pakali  to  comfort  her  father. 
The  father  and  daughter  had  passed  a  sorrowful  time,  al- 
though both  strove  to  bear  with  fortitude  the  changed  con- 
ditions of  their  lives.  Beaumont  gave  many  of  his  days  to 
the  public  affairs  of  the  Nation.  Serious  questions  con- 
fronted the  Chickasaws,  and  he  was  Governor  Sands's  chief 
adviser  in  all  matters  pertaining  to  action  looking  toward  the 
inevitable  allotment  of  lands. 

Cole  Mattison  and  his  father,  Peter  Mattison,  headed  a 
faction  which  ceaselessly  agitated  the  question  of  individual 
ownership  of  property.  They  called  themselves  leaders  of  a 
Progressive  movement,  and  easily  obtained  the  support  of 
most  of  the  younger  Indians,  in  whom  education  and  travel 
had  bred  a  resentment  against  conditions  which  compelled 
them  to  remain  wards  of  the  United  States  instead  of  be- 
coming citizens  of  the  Republic.  This  party  became  an 
easy  tool  for  the  interloping  white  men  who  coveted  the 
fertile  acres  and  valuable  mineral  tracts  belonging  to  the 
Indians. 

For  more  than  forty  years  the  Chickasaws  had  allowed 
their  cattle  to  feed  upon  the  free  ranges,  and  the  wholesale 
leasing  system  aroused  much  opposition  in  the  legislature. 
A  Syndicate  had  agents  at  work  for  weeks  before  the 
viva  voce  election  in  the  Nation,  and  Governor  Sands  was 
quick  to  see  that  his  defeat  was  possible,  inasmuch  as  his  long 
service  to  the  Chickasaws  might  be  ignored  in  view  of  a 
possible  increase  of  income  through  the  leases.  He  and 

103 


104  THE   MAN    OF    YESTERDAY 

Beaumont  worked  tirelessly  for  what  they  considered  the  good 
of  the  Nation.  They  desired  to  delay  the  allotment  as  long 
as  possible,  in  order  that  the  fullbloods  and  halfbreeds  might 
be  better  qualified  for  the  responsibilities  of  the  severally 
system  of  land  tenure.  They  realised  that  a  large  proportion 
of  the  Chickasaws  and  Choctaws  would  be  easy  prey  for  the 
covetous  and  designing  settlers  who  would  come  to  the 
Territory  in  overwhelming  numbers  as  soon  as  there  was  a 
chance  to  procure  farms,  timber  tracts,  and  mining  interests. 

In  the  campaign  Peter  Mattison  and  his  son  showed  that 
they  were  clever  politicians.  They  frequently  boasted  that 
they  had  learned  a  thing  or  two  in  Texas,  and  it  was  evident 
that  they  were  not  loth  to  employ  every  shrewd  measure  that 
would  serve  their  ends.  Fortunately  for  Beaumont  and 
Governor  Sands,  Ardmore  and  Wauchula,  where  the  in- 
fluence of  the  Mattisons  was  strongest,  numbered  few  In- 
dians in  their  steadily  growing  populations,  for  most  of  the 
Chickasaws  lived  outside  the  large  towns.  With  John  Oak- 
tree's  help  the  counties  of  Pontotoc,  Pickens,  Panola,  and 
Tishomingo  were  canvassed. 

Day  after  day  Pakali  was  left  alone  at  Moma  Binna,  and 
on  the  evening  after  the  election,  when  her  father  came  back 
from  Ardmore  with  the  announcement  that  Governor  Sands 
could  not  be  counted  out,  despite  the  persistent  attempts 
made  by  the  Progressive  party,  she  exclaimed : 

"  Now  I  shall  have  you  with  me  once  more.  I  am  glad 
Governor  Sands  is  safe  in  office,  but  it  seems  to  me  his  suc- 
cess has  been  bought  at  the  cost  of  much  weariness  to  my 
dear  old  father." 

Stroking  the  big  brown  hand  that  had  been  laid  upon  her 
shoulder  while  the  election  news  was  being  communicated 
to  her,  she  looked  into  the  furrowed  face  of  Beaumont,  who 
had  aged  much  in  the  months  that  had  passed  since  the  Little 
Mother's  death.  Father  and  daughter  went  in  together  to 
the  tea  table,  where  Pakali  sat  behind  the  silver  service  with 


FATHER   AND   DAUGHTER  105 

water  lily  engraving,  which  her  mother  had  prized  so  highly. 
Two  extra  plates  were  laid  for  possible  guests,  and,  glancing 
at  one  on  his  right,  Beaumont  said: 

"  It  is  a  long  time  since  Hattakowa  was  last  at  Moma 
Binna.  I  am  concerned  about  him,  for  he  behaves  strangely. 
He  made  the  election  come  our  way — at  least  John  Oaktree 
says  so — for  he  has  a  remarkable  influence  over  the  fullbloods, 
and  he  works  with  a  fierce  energy  whenever  the  interests  of 
the  Chickasaws  are  at  stake." 

"  At  heart  he  is  more  intensely  Indian  than  any  other 
mixedblood  in  the  Territory,"  Pakali  said,  as  she  put  cream 
into  her  father's  cup.  She  kept  her  eyes  upon  the  task  of 
pouring  the  tea,  for  since  her  marriage  she  could  not  speak 
of  Hattakowa  with  the  frankness  that  belonged  to  her 
girlhood  days. 

"  Now  and  then  some  really  savage  traits  show  themselves 
in  Hattakowa."  Beaumont  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and 
spoke  with  concern  in  his  tone.  "  He  went  to  Kansas  City 
to-day,  and  when  I  asked  what  business  took  him  North,  he 
declared  that  he  was  going  to  seek  some  recreation  that  would 
furnish  excitement.  That  was  only  another  manner  of 
saying  that  he  would  give  way  to  his  mania  for  gambling. 
He  is  even  more  restless  than  he  used  to  be." 

Pakali  made  no  answer. 

"  It  is  a  disappointment  to  me  that  Hattakowa  does  not 
attend  to  business,"  Beaumont  went  on ;  "  everything  he 
touches  turns  to  money,  and  he  might  be  the  most  powerful 
man  in  the  Chickasaw  Nation  if  he  chose  to  use  his  influence 
and  wealth  in  the  right  direction.  I  suppose  we  ought  to 
be  thankful,  however,  that  the  savage  in  him  does  not  crave 
fire  water." 

"  Is  Hattakowa  savage  in  any  other  way  excepting  gam- 
bling? "  Pakali  asked.  "  He  likes  to  boast  of  his  Indian 
traits,  but  I  have  found  him  always  tender  and  gentle." 

"  He  never  forgets  an  injury,  and  he  has  the  old  Indian 


io6  THE    MAN    OF    YESTERDAY 

spirit  of  revenge,  but  I  hope  he  may  be  given  few  causes  for 
the  awakening  of  his  primitive  passions." 

The  evening  meal  had  been  late  and  it  was  dark  when 
Pakali  and  her  father  left  the  table.  Beaumont  went  down 
to  the  village,  where  he  was  to  meet  some  of  the  newly 
elected  members  of  the  legislature  at  the  Poyner  Tavern. 

When  Pakali  was  left  alone  in  the  living  room,  she  drew 
her  favourite  stool  before  the  big  fireplace,  in  which  some  light 
wood  was  burning,  for  chilly  nights  followed  the  warm  days 
of  the  early  spring.  She  thought  of  her  husband,  as  she  did 
in  every  hour  when  her  mind  was  free  to  follow  its  natural 
inclination.  Stuart's  letters  had  been  far  apart  recently,  and 
when  they  came  they  told  her  of  the  things  he  had  seen  In 
his  trip  through  the  south  of  France  with  his  mother  and 
Miss  Dudley.  The  surgical  operation  had  been  successful, 
but  Mrs.  Stuart's  recovery  was  slow.  Stuart  had  held  out 
vague  promises  that  he  would  return  to  the  United  States 
before  the  summer,  but  between  the  lines  Pakali  read  much 
that  made  her  heart  ache.  In  spirit,  as  well  as  in  body, 
Stuart  was  far  away  from  Indian  Territory.  He  did  not 
omit  the  endearing  terms  which  made  each  of  his  letters  at 
least  conventional  in  form,  but  the  soul  of  the  lonely  wife 
saw  beyond  the  writing. 

For  several  months  Pakali  had  been  awed  by  the  contem- 
plation of  the  miracle  of  motherhood.  In  her  heart  had 
been  born  a  new  love,  so  mysterious  that  she  could  hold  it 
only  as  a  direct  revelation  from  Heaven.  She  was  to  be 
an  instrument  of  the  Creator  in  sending  a  new  soul  into  the 
world.  While  she  cherished  the  sweet  hope,  there  was  none 
to  whom  she  could  speak  of  the  coming  of  her  child.  The 
delicacy  and  reticence  of  the  Indian  forbade  her  from  talking 
about  it  with  her  father.  Often  when  she  wrote  to  her 
husband  she  meant  to  tell  him  how  she  waited  for  his  son 
— somehow  she  always  dreamed  of  another  Arnold  Stuart — • 
but,  more  and  more,  she  had  the  impression  that  the  man  in 
Europe  was  becoming  a  stranger  to  her.  Always  now  she 


FATHER   AND    DAUGHTER  107 

wept  when  she  strove  to  send  him  happy  letters.  Once,  when 
she  had  poured  out  something  of  the  desolation  in  her  heart, 
Stuart  had  answered  that  he  expected  her  to  have  the  un- 
complaining patience  for  which  the  Indian  women  were  cele- 
brated, at  least  in  the  story  books. 

As  she  watched  the  play  of  the  flames,  Pakali  felt  unus- 
ually depressed.  Every  day,  through  all  the  months,  her 
soul  had  cried  out  to  her  husband,  and  she  had  prayed  for 
fortitude.  Now  and  then  doubts  knocked  at  the  house  of 
her  heart  where,  she  had  told  Arnold,  he  was  securely  shut 
in.  But  she  would  not  listen  to  them.  Her  loyalty  gave  her 
an  answer  to  every  question  that  assailed  her  faith.  If  her 
love  had  not  been  of  the  quality  that  casts  away  every  mis- 
giving, she  might  have  been  jealous  of  Miss  Eleanor  Dudley, 
about  whom  the  letters  from  France  contained  more  and 
more  as  the  weeks  went  by.  Pakali  was  proud  to  think  that 
Arnold's  frankness  proved  how  little  the  other  woman  meant 
to  him.  Still,  over  all  her  reasoning,  rose  the  one  cry  for 
her  husband.  She  needed  him ;  she  wanted  him  to  come 
back. 

Looking  into  the  fire,  Pakali  saw  once  more  the  pictures 
of  the  past.  Glancing  around  the  living  room,  now  but 
dimly  lighted  by  the  burning  logs,  she  recalled  how  Arnold 
Stuart  had  sat  at  the  round  table  listening  to  the  story  of 
Hattakowa's  ring.  She  remembered  the  room  as  it  had 
looked  decked  with  the  greenery  of  the  woods  on  her  wedding 
day ;  and  she  beheld  again  the  Little  Mother's  cofHn  standing 
where  the  light  from  the  windows  fell  upon  the  still,  white 
face.  She  rose  to  her  feet  with  a  nervous  cry,  and  her  eyes 
fell  upon  her  husband's  hat,  which  hung  upon  the  antlers 
long  used  as  a  rack  for  guns  and  head  gear.  The  hat  gave 
her  assurance  of  the  reality  of  Arnold's  existence.  Often 
when  she  thought  of  him  their  summer  romance  seemed  like 
a  pleasant  dream. 

With  trembling  hands  Pakali  lighted  the  candles  on  the 
high  mantel  shelf.  On  the  big,  round  table  wras  her  work 


io8  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

basket,  in  which  rested  a  fluff  of  lace  and  a  cloud  of  thin 
white  material.  She  took  up  her  sewing.  It  was  such  a 
wee  garment  which  she  was  making  that  it  required  a  dainty 
touch,  but  her  slender  fingers  were  suddenly  clumsy. 

As  she  sewed  she  often  wondered  how  her  baby  would  look. 
She  thought  of  him  as  fair  and  blue-eyed  like  his  father,  but 
somehow  she  never  could  imagine  a  distinct  portrait  of  the 
little  one,  although  she  often  thought  she  could  feel  his  head 
nestling  against  her  breast.  She  put  down  her  needlework 
and  sat  for  a  time  with  her  elbows  on  the  table  and  her  face 
resting  upon  her  hands.  The  firelight  showed  a  wan,  care- 
worn Pakali,  into  whose  eyes  had  come  the  solemn  light  of 
womanhood.  The  droop  at  the  corners  of  the  mouth  had 
been  emphasised  and  the  cheek  bones,  made  prominent  by 
loss  of  the  girlhood  roundness  of  contour,  betrayed  her 
Indian  ancestry.  While  she  sat  there,  bravely  forcing  back 
the  tears,  she  heard  footsteps  on  the  porch.  The  door 
opened,  and  Hattakowa's  mother  came  in,  followed  by  one 
of  the  servants,  who  carried  her  travelling  bag. 

"  Why,  Aunt  Totopehah,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you ! "  ex- 
claimed Pakali,  putting  her  arm  around  Mrs.  Dixon's  neck. 

As  the  older  woman  embraced  her,  Pakali  could  not  con- 
trol her  emotion,  and  with  a  little  sob  she  told  how  lonely 
she  had  been. 

"  Hattakowa  has  gone  away,  and  I  came  to  make  you  a 
long  visit,"  announced  Mrs.  Dixon  as  she  began  to  take  off 
her  bonnet.  "  The  ranch  is  too  dull  even  for  an  Indian 
woman,"  she  continued,  "  so  I  closed  the  house  and  there 
is  no  telling  when  you  will  see  me  going  home." 

It  was  like  Aunt  Totopehah  to  pretend  that  her  visit  was 
made  for  selfish  reasons,  and  Pakali  smilingly  told  her  so. 

Over  a  dainty  supper,  brought  in  upon  a  tray,  and  ar- 
ranged upon  the  round  table  in  the  living  room,  Mrs.  Dixon 
and  Pakali  gossiped  quite  as  if  there  were  no  serious  troubles 
in  all  the  world. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE   LITTLE   CHIEFTAIN 

EARLY  one  May  morning  there  came  to  Moma  Binna  a  new 
member  of  the  Chickasaw  Nation.  It  was  with  a  lusty  cry 
that  he  heralded  the  beginning  of  his  conscious  life.  When 
he  opened  his  eyes  in  the  brilliant  sunshine  of  the  southern 
day  he  found  the  world  so  dazzling  that  he  complained 
vigorously.  Later,  after  he  was  wrapped  in  the  swaddling 
clothes  which  prevented  him  from  moving  his  sturdy  arms 
and  legs,  he  lay  on  the  bed  in  his  father's  long-deserted  room. 

Tiptoeing  in  through  the  veranda  door,  Beaumont  looked 
for  the  first  time  into  the  face  of  his  grandchild.  The  strong 
old  Indian  reverently  bent  his  head  as  he  gazed  upon  the 
babe,  whose  lineaments  had  that  strange  look  of  age  which 
foretells  something  of  the  appearance  the  countenance  will 
wear  when  the  little  journey  through  the  world  is  completed. 
The  infant's  head  was  nobly  moulded,  and  the  thick  growth  of 
dark  hair  proclaimed  the  fact  that  his  aboriginal  heritage  had 
asserted  itself  in  the  physical  characteristics  of  the  Indian. 
Although  Beaumont  tiptoed  around  the  bed  several  times, 
waiting  impatiently  for  the  little  Chickasaw  to  open  his  eyes, 
the  infant  slept  on  comfortably. 

"  He  is  a  fine  child,"  declared  Mrs.  Dixon,  coming  into 
the  room.  "  Have  you  seen  how  tall  he  is?  "  She  drew 
back  the  silken  coverlid,  and,  finding  the  baby's  feet,  de- 
clared that  the  child  had  an  unusual  height. 

"  It  is  so  long  since  I  welcomed  Pakali  that  I  don't  know 
much  about  babies,"  said  the  grandfather ;  "  but  it  seems  to 
me  a  promising  boy  has  come  to  Moma  Binna." 

"  Promising!  "  repeated  Mrs.  Dixon.  "  Why,  he  is  even 

109 


i  io  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

stronger-looking  than  Hattakowa  was,  and  you  know  how 
you  used  to  praise  him  when  he  was  small." 

The  babe  opened  his  eyes  with  a  cry  that  expressed  his 
dislike  of  too  much  familiarity,  and  Mrs.  Dixon  took  him 
up  in  her  arms. 

"  Well,  it  is  too  bad  to  bother  anyone  who  is  so  much  a 
stranger  in  Tishomingo,"  she  said,  in  the  cooing  tones  women 
are  wont  to  employ  in  addressing  children  too  young  to 
comprehend  what  is  said  to  them.  "  He  shall  come  to  his 
Aunt  Totopehah,  who  is  very  proud  of  her  hour-old  kins- 
man." 

"  Has  Pakali  ever  expressed  any  preference  about  a 
name?"  Beaumont  asked  after  Mrs.  Dixon  had  taken  her 
place  in  the  little  rocking  chair  that  belonged  to  the  baby's 
mother. 

"  Yes."  There  was  a  moment's  hesitation.  "  She  would 
like  to  combine  your  name  with  that  of  the  child's  father. 
What  do  you  think  of  George  Arnold  Stuart?  " 

Beaumont  turned  his  broad  back  upon  her  as  he  began  to 
pace  the  floor.  He  had  crossed  the  room  twice  before  he 
stopped  near  his  grandchild. 

"  If  Pakali's  love  for  her  husband  prompts  her  to  call  her 
son  Arnold,  let  it  be  so,  but  my  name  must  not  be  mingled 
with  the  white  man's." 

He  stooped  to  touch  the  cheek  of  the  babe.  "  To  me  he 
shall  be  Push-Kush-Miko— The  Little  Chieftain." 

It  was  a  rare  day  of  exquisite  beauty  that  Push-Kush-Miko 
had  chosen  upon  which  to  make  his  entrance  into  the  world. 
A  cloudless  sky  stretched  over  the  green  earth.  The  roses 
were  in  bloom  and  the  trees,  full  leaved,  sheltered  many  song 
birds.  In  the  hour  of  dawn,  just  before  Miko's  first  cry 
thrilled  his  mother's  heart  with  joy,  a  belated  robin  had 
chanted  sad  notes  which  now  and  then  touched  the  higher 
strains  of  joy  and  hope. 

The  robin's  song  had  been  silenced  and  a  brooding  quiet 


THE   LITTLE   CHIEFTAIN  in 

had  fallen  upon  Moma  Binna  when  at  noon  time  it  was 
whispered  that  Pakali  was  near  unto  death.  In  her  narrow 
bed,  in  the  little  white  room  that  had  been  hers  during  all 
her  girlhood,  the  young  mother  lay  so  still  that  it  seemed  as 
if  she  had  fallen  asleep  forever.  The  faintest  pulse-beat 
gave  assurance  that  she  was  yet  alive.  Two  physicians 
watched  her,  and,  as  the  afternoon  shadows  fell,  both  agreed 
that  a  last  urgent  message  should  be  sent  to  her  absent  hus- 
band. 

For  many  days  Pakali  had  watched  for  Stuart,  who  had 
been  in  Chicago  more  than  a  month,  but  he  had  sent  excuses 
for  his  long  delay  in  returning  to  the  Territory.  His 
neglected  business  made  imperative  demands  upon  his  time,  he 
said,  and  then  his  mother  was  in  a  precarious  condition  after 
her  long  journey  across  the  ocean.  For  forty-eight  hours 
before  the  day  of  Miko's  birth,  Pakali  had  been  in  the  valley 
of  the  shadow  of  death.  Three  times  Beaumont  had  sent 
Indian  couriers  to  Wauchula  with  telegrams  telling  Stuart 
of  Pakali's  serious  illness.  When  the  first  answer  had 
brought  an  affectionate  greeting  to  Pakali,  and  the  state- 
ment that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  leave  unless  his 
presence  was  absolutely  necessary,  Mrs.  Dixon  had  urged  that 
Beaumont  should  tell  him  why  Pakali's  life  hung  in  the 
balance.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  the  old  Indian  spoke  of 
the  indignation  in  his  heart.  For  Pakali's  sake  he  had  con- 
cealed his  resentment  against  the  white  man  who  had  dared 
to  neglect  his  daughter.  Now  the  final  test  had  come.  If 
Stuart  did  not  hasten  to  Tishomingo,  he  should  forfeit  all 
claims  to  consideration  and  steps  should  be  taken  to  probe 
the  causes  of  his  growing  indifference  to  Pakali's  rights. 

Beaumont  sent  the  second  telegram  and  again  came  a 
temporising  reply.  This  aroused  all  the  Indian  pride  in 
the  heart  of  the  Chickasaw.  He  loved  his  daughter  better 
than  his  own  life.  He  waited  until  Miko  had  come  to  them 
and  then  with  a  hand  that  shook  he  wrote  the  words :  "  If 


ii2  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

you  do  not  come  at  once,  Pakali  will  be  dead  to  you  even 
though  she  may  live  beyond  to-day." 

It  was  not  until  the  next  morning  that  a  courier  brought 
to  Moma  Binna  the  reply  to  Beaumont's  ultimatum  to  his 
son-in-law.  Stuart  asked  him  to  reserve  judgment,  and  re- 
peated the  declaration  that  it  was  impossible  to  leave  Chicago. 
The  reasons,  Stuart  said,  he  had  written  fully  in  a  letter  that 
would  reach  Tishomingo  in  two  days.  The  letter  came 
while  Pakali  was  still  hovering  between  life  and  death.  It 
told  Beaumont  that  Stuart  had  jeopardised  his  position  with 
his  law  firm  by  his  continued  absence,  and  that  Congressman 
Fordham,  who  had  made  a  trip  from  a  neighbouring  State, 
where  he  controlled  the  Republican  party,  had  demanded  his 
services  in  an  important  matter.  Any  dereliction  at  what 
was  a  critical  time  might  thwart  every  ambitious  plan  which 
Stuart  had  laid  for  his  future.  In  a  few  lame  sentences 
the  writer  mentioned  that,  of  course,  he  was  working  for 
Pakali's  future  as  well  as  his  own. 

The  old  Chickasaw  read  the  well-worded  letter  several 
times.  He  had  taken  it  to  the  living  room  where  he  could 
study  it  carefully.  It  was  his  first  thought  that  he  would 
send  Hattakowa  to  Chicago  in  order  to  ascertain  just  what 
Stuart  was  doing.  Beaumont  had  enough  knowledge  of 
men  and  of  the  world  to  guess  that  changed  environment 
had  made  Stuart's  Indian  Territory  love  affair  appear  as  an 
incident  that  became  less  important  as  it  receded  into  the 
past.  It  had  been  one  of  the  scandals  of  the  Five  Nations 
that  white  men  often  married  Indians  girls,  only  to  desert 
them  whenever  the  temptation  to  shirk  domestic  responsi- 
bility presented  itself.  Most  of  the  abandoned  wives  had  be- 
longed to  the  families  of  fullbloods,  or  halfbreeds  of  the 
humbler  class.  It  had  never  occurred  to  Beaumont  that  his 
beloved  Pakali  could  be  made  the  victim  of  an  unprincipled 
white  man.  Because  the  Little  Mother  had  made  him  feel 
that  he  belonged  partly  to  the  dominant  race,  he  had  accepted 


THE    LITTLE    CHIEFTAIN  113 

Stuart  with  an  unwavering  confidence  in  the  young  man's 
integrity.  Now  he  believed  that  his  daughter  must  be 
counted  among  those  who  had  lost  happiness  in  marrying  out- 
side the  Chickasaw  Nation.  While  he  was  pondering  over 
Arnold's  letter,  Governor  Sands  arrived  at  Moma  Binna. 

"  I  came  to  pay  my  respects  to  the  latest  Chickasaw  regis- 
tered on  the  rolls  of  the  Nation,"  said  the  Governor,  as  he 
shook  hands  with  his  friend.  "  I  hear  you  have  called  your 
grandson  Push-Kush-Miko,  but  I  suppose  he  has  no  idea  that 
he  has  come  to  join  the  ranks  of  the  Non-Progressive 
Indians." 

Beaumont  smiled.  "  So  far  he  has  appeared  to  be  rather 
a  self-assertive  young  Indian,"  he-  said,  and  then  with  a 
sudden  change  of  manner,  exclaimed:  "  If  I  have  my  way 
Miko  will  belong  altogether  to  my  people!  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  The  Governor's  good-natured 
face  became  serious  in  an  instant. 

"  I  mean "  Beaumont  hesitated,  as  if  he  could  not 

speak  of  the  humiliation  of  his  family;  "  I  mean  that  I  fear 
Arnold  Stuart  has  repented  of  marrying  an  Indian  girl." 

"  What  makes  you  think  that  he  is  exercising  the  white 
man's  hereditary  privilege  of  breaking  pledges  with  the 
Indian?" 

Governor  Sands  folded  his  sinewy  arms  as  he  spoke  with 
a  tinge  of  bitterness  in  his  tone.  He  listened  with  a  stern 
look  while  Beaumont  told  him  how  Pakali  had  waited  for 
Stuart's  return,  and  how,  even  when  she  appeared  to  be 
dying,  a  most  urgent  message  brought  only  weak  excuses. 

"  In  the  summer  time  I  generally  take  a  vacation,"  said 
Governor  Sands,  looking  out  of  the  window  lest  his  eyes 
should  betray  the  anger  that  he  felt.  "  I  will  go  to  Chicago 
next  week,  and  while  I  am  there  I  will  find  out  all  you 
should  know  about  your  son-in-law.  We  shall  try  to  think 
well  of  him  until  we  know  he  is  something  worse  than  a 
careless  husband." 


ii4  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

"  You  have  been  my  brother  more  than  my  friend,  Henry 
Sands,"  Beaumont  answered.  And  thus  it  was  agreed  that 
the  Governor  should  undertake  the  mission  Beaumont  dared 
not  trust  himself  to  perform.  The  two  Chickasaws  sat  to- 
gether smoking  for  a  long  time  before  Governor  Sands  was 
reminded  of  his  chief  errand  to  Moma  Binna. 

"  I  must  see  the  Little  Chieftain,"  he  said,  as  he  refilled  his 
pipe  from  a  crude,  earthenware  bowl  the  Little  Mother  had 
once  bought  from  a  blanketed  Kiowa.  "If  his  father  should 
be  unfaithful  to  his  duty  the  boy  can  be  adopted  at  the  next 
session  of  the  legislature,  and  he  shall  be  always  my  ward  as 
long  as  he  lives  in  the  Territory." 

Miko  was  brought  into  the  living  room  by  Mammy  'Liza, 
who  had  renewed  her  youth  with  her  accession  to  the  post 
of  child's  nurse.  The  baby  opened  a  pair  of  large  eyes  when 
Mammy  'Liza  put  him  upon  the  lap  of  his  grandfather. 
Miko  appeared  to  feel  that  some  untoward  influence  attended 
his  advent,  for  he  gazed  solemnly  at  the  rugged  face  of  the 
Governor. 

"  If  one  can  judge  at  this  time  it  is  safe  to  say  that  Miko 
will  be  very  much  of  an  Indian.  I  don't  see  much  resem- 
blance to  his  pale-faced  father,"  commented  Governor  Sands. 

"  He  sho'  a  red  Injun  now,"  exclaimed  Mammy  'Liza, 
"  but  you  cahn't  'magine  how  he'll  look  bime  by."  The 
negro  woman  watched  Beaumont  balance  the  infant  upon 
his  knee,  and  when  she  saw  that  the  blanket  had  been  allowed 
to  slip  up  over  the  child's  face,  while  the  long  clothes  became 
a  shapeless  bunch,  she  took  back  her  charge  with  the  reprov- 
ing words:  "  Laws,  Massa,  but  you'se  awkward!  " 


CHAPTER   XIV 

CLOSING  THE   GATES 

WEAK  and  wan,  Pakali  lay  for  many  days  in  her  little  white 
bed.  Under  her  pillow  she  kept  a  note  that  Stuart  had  sent 
to  her  with  the  letter  of  explanation  addressed  to  her  father. 
Now  that  she  knew  that  she  could  not  expect  him  to  come  to 
her,  she  appeared  to  be  suffering  a  reaction  from  the  long 
nervous  strain  under  which  she  had  lived  before  the  birth  of 
her  child.  Her  dark  eyes,  which  looked  larger  than  ever 
before  now  that  she  was  pale  and  thin,  had  in  them  a  look 
of  such  dumb  suffering  that,  whenever  he  came  to  see  her 
and  Miko,  her  father  avoided  meeting  her  glance. 

The  babe  thrived,  and  when  his  black  head  lay  upon  his 
mother's  bosom  Pakali  was  transfigured  with  the  glory  of 
her  motherhood,  which  had  in  it  the  prescience  of  a  great 
sorrow  that  waited  until  she  should  be  strong  enough  to 
meet  it.  Her  convalescence  was  slow.  Week  after  week 
passed  without  bringing  any  word  from  Stuart,  and  the  con- 
stant watching  for  tidings  wore  upon  the  young  mother. 

One  morning  when  Pakali  awoke  she  remembered  that 
it  was  her  birthday  anniversary.  The  quick  tears  came  as 
she  recalled  the  events  of  the  last  year,  and  she  hid  her  face 
in  her  pillow,  lest  Mammy  'Liza  should  notice  that  she  was 
weeping.  The  voice  of  Miko,  who  stirred  in  his  cradle,  re- 
minded her  that  life  had  a  new  interest,  and  she  asked  the 
nurse  to  put  the  baby  beside  her.  Clasping  Miko  in  a  close 
embrace,  she  held  him  until  the  contact  with  his  warm  little 
body  brought  her  the  peculiar  sensation  which  is  part  of  the 
joy  that  a  woman  feels  as  she  holds  her  child  in  her  arms. 
Miko  went  to  sleep  as  soon  as  he  was  near  his  mother,  and 
Pakali  studied  the  baby  face  with  an  anxious,  loving  scrutiny. 


n6 

She  had  hoped  that  her  son  would  resemble  his  father,  but 
except  in  the  breadth  of  his  forehead,  and  the  shape  of  his 
chin,  there  was  not  the  slightest  hint  that  Miko  had  inherited 
any  of  the  Stuart  comeliness.  The  child  was  a  quarterblood 
in  whom  there  chanced  to  be  more  of  the  Indian  look  than 
was  discoverable  in  many  a  halfbreed.  Aunt  Totopehah 
had  laughingly  remarked  that  the  baby  was  like  his  grand- 
father, and  Pakali  saw  that  this  was  true.  She  hugged  Miko 
to  her  breast,  as  if  she  would  still  the  ache  in  her  heart,  but 
the  child  awoke,  putting  out  his  small  fists  in  indignant  pro- 
test. Pakali  kissed  the  tiny  hands  and  the  soft,  round  cheek, 
crooning  in  a  low  tone  a  little  lullaby  that  she  had  heard  the 
Chickasaw  women  sing  to  their  children  when  their  babies 
had  become  so  far  civilised  that  they  had  lost  the  passivity 
of  the  pappoose. 

The  heavy  tread  of  Beaumont,  as  he  came  along  the 
veranda,  caused  Pakali  to  brush  away  her  tears.  She  knew 
her  father  was  coming  for  his  first  visit  of  the  day,  and  she 
strove  always  to  greet  him  with  a  smile.  One  of  the  negro 
housemaids  opened  the  glass  door  for  the  master  of  Moma 
Binna,  but  when  he  reached  the  threshold  of  Pakali's  room 
Beaumont  hesitated,  as  if  he  felt  reluctant  about  entering. 
The  sunlight,  falling  upon  his  big  head  and  broad  shoul- 
ders, revealed  the  fact  that  the  old  Indian  was  carrying  some 
great  burden  of  trouble.  With  an  effort  Beaumont  finally 
went  to  the  bedside. 

"  Where  is  Miko?  "  he  questioned,  glancing  at  the  empty 
cradle,  and  Pakali  drew  aside  the  coverings  which  hid  the 
babe  slumbering  at  her  breast.  Beaumont  sank  upon  a  chair, 
that  looked  too  frail  to  hold  his  great  weight. 

"  Are  you  not  feeling  well,  father?  "  Pakali  asked,  for  she 
saw  that  he  looked  even  more  aged  and  careworn  than  at  any 
other  time  since  her  mother's  death. 

"There  is  nothing  to  complain  of  so  far  as  my  health  is 
concerned." 


CLOSING   THE   GATES  117 

Beaumont  took  his  daughter's  hand. 

"  You  haven't  any  bad  news,  I  hope  ?  Somehow  I  cannot 
help  wondering  about  Arnold.  There  are  times  when  I 
fear  he  may  be  ill.  It  is  long,  very  long  since  he  last  wrote 
to  me." 

Pakali  read  in  her  father's  face  the  truth,  that  he  had 
brought  her  some  information  concerning  her  husband.  Her 
poor  heart  beat  wildly  as,  holding  the  baby  against  her 
breast,  she  strove  to  wait  calmly  for  her  father's  answer. 

"  Suspense  is  harder  to  bear  than  any  knowledge;  don't 
you  think  it  is,  dear?  "  Beaumont  questioned,  hesitatingly. 

"  Yes.  Don't  try  to  spare  me.  Tell  me,  Arnold  is  not 
dead?" 

Pakali  raised  herself  upon  her  pillows,  lifting  Miko  into 
her  lap. 

"  Your  husband  is  alive  and  well,"  said  Beaumont,  his 
voice  stern  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  speak  dispassionately. 
"  But,  Pakali, — can  you  bear  it? — he  desires  to  forget  that 
he  is  married  to  an  Indian." 

Pakali  bent  far  forward  as  if  she  were  cringing  from  physi- 
cal pain. 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  believe  it!  How  could  you  know  what 
you  tell  me?  You  speak  your  fears,  and  they  are  not  facts." 

Beaumont  let  her  feel  the  first  poignancy  of  the  agony  he 
was  compelled  to  make  her  suffer  before  he  explained. 

"  For  a  month  Governor  Sands  has  been  in  Chicago  watch- 
ing Arnold  Stuart." 

"  How  could  he  so  insult  my  husband !  "  Pakali  cried  out 
with  indignation. 

"  The  most  extreme  measures  were  justified.  When  your 
husband  declared  it  impossible  to  come  to  you  in  your  hour 
of  need,  it  was  your  father's  duty  to  learn  the  true  reason. 
Governor  Sands  discovered  that  Arnold  Stuart's  name  was 
much  in  the  society  columns  of  the  Chicago  newspapers.  The 
night  his  son  was  born  his  mother  gave  a  fashionable  ball. 


ii8  THE   MAN    OF   YESTERDAY. 

He  is  making  some  headway  politically,  and  he  confessed  to 
Governor  Sands  that  just  now  it  would  spoil  his  prospects 
if  it  became  known  that  he  had  made — what  he  called  it — 
an  unconventional  marriage." 

"  He  told  Governor  Sands  that  I  might  stand  in  the  way 
of  his  success?  "  Pakali  questioned,  her  pride  giving  her 
courage. 

"  Yes,  Governor  Sands  went  to  his  office,  where  he  had 
a  long  taflc  with  the  young  man."  There  was  scorn  in  the 
old  Chickasaw's  voice  as  he  went  on  relentlessly :  "  It  ap- 
pears that  what  is  called  the  '  silk  stocking  '  element  of  the 
fashionable  ward  in  which  Arnold  Stuart  lives  is  putting 
him  forward  as  a  member  of  the  city  council.  From  this 
stepping  stone  he  probably  hopes  to  rise  to  a  place  where  he 
can  wield  the  sort  of  influence  his  friend,  Congressman  Ford- 
ham,  turns  into  money." 

Pakali  heard  but  vaguely  her  father's  last  words,  for  she 
was  absorbed  in  the  one  thought  that  Arnold  had  come  to 
look  upon  her  as  a  burden — to  think  of  their  marriage  as  a 
mistake. 

"  Did  Arnold  make  Governor  Sands  think  that  he  meant 
to  desert  me  and  Miko?  "  Pakali  asked  the  question  in  a 
quiet  voice. 

"  Governor  Sands  said  nothing  about  Miko.  We  had 
agreed  it  was  best  he  should  not  hear  he  had  a  son  if  he  were 
unworthy  to  be  the  father  of  our  Chickasaw  boy." 

"  That  was  right,"  said  Pakali,  looking  upon  the  face  of 
Miko.  "  I — I  will  write  to  Arnold  to  let  him  know  that  I 
give  him  up  forever.  It  would  have  been  more  honest  if  he 
had  told  me  these  things,  for  he  should  have  known  that  I 
love  him  too  much  to  stand  in  the  way  of  his  happiness." 

Exhausted,  she  lay  back  upon  the  pillows  after  her  father 
had  taken  Miko  from  her.  There  was  a  long  silence.  Beau- 
mont kept  back  the  bitter  words  of  censure  for  Stuart  that  his 
indignation  prompted  him  to  speak. 


CLOSING   THE   GATES  119 

"  Father,  I  would  rather  you  would  write  the  letter  for 
me."  In  a  muffled  voice  the  words  were  spoken  slowly  from 
among  the  pillows.  "  It  may  be  a  long  time  before  I  have 
strength  enough  to  tell  Arnold  he  need  have  no  fear  that 
Pakali  will  ruin  his  life,  and  there  should  be  no  delay  in 
sending  him  a  message." 

"  I  will  write  the  letter  for  you,"  her  father  promised. 

"When?  "  she  asked;  "  to-day?  " 

"  Yes,  to-day." 

Beaumont  put  the  baby  back  beside  Pakali,  and,  stooping, 
kissed  his  daughter,  whose  drawn  face  had  lost  the  light  of 
hope. 

"  Thank  God  that  you  have  been  given  this  son,"  he  whis- 
pered ;  "  the  child  may  compensate  for  all  your  sufferings." 
Then  he  went  out  of  the  room  with  lagging  steps. 

Miko  had  awakened.  Again  Pakali  held  him  to  her 
aching  heart. 

"  The  white  man  has  shut  the  gates  of  his  golden  city 
upon  the  Indian  woman  and  her  child,"  she  murmured. 


BOOK   II 


CHAPTER   XV 
SUMMERTIME 

AGAIN  it  was  summer  in  the  Indian  Territory.  The  crystal 
waters  of  many  a  swollen  creek  emptied  into  the  rivers  that 
flowed  toward  the  Mississippi  and  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  The 
spring  rains  had  been  frequent,  and  nowhere  between  the 
Atlantic  and  the  Pacific  was  there  to  be  found  a  more  beauti- 
ful garden  spot  than  that  comprised  in  the  many  thousand 
acres  which,  since  1854,  nad  been  held  in  the  name  of  the 
five  civilised  tribes — The  Cherokees,  Creeks,  Choctaws, 
Chickasaws,  and  Seminoles. 

In  this  summertime,  when  every  mountain  stream  was  full 
and  every  river  ran  high  between  fertile  banks,  when  every 
mile  of  prairie  was  covered  with  lush  verdure,  and  when 
every  hillside  was  green,  the  old  pledge  had  been  broken. 
Water  still  ran  and  grass  still  grew  in  the  Territory,  but  the 
Curtis  Bill,  passed  by  Congress,  and  signed  by  the  President 
of  the  United  States,  legaliged  the  allotment  of  lands  so  that 
each  member  of  the  Five  Nations  should  have  "  so  far  as 
possible,  a  fair  and  equal  share  thereof,  considering  the  char- 
acter and  fertility  of  the  soil  and  the  location  and  value  of  the 
land."  In  a  few  years  the  lands,  once  the  heritage  of  the 
Indian,  would  pass  to  the  white  man. 

The  Bill  entitled :  "  An  Act  for  the  protection  of  the 
People  of  the  Indian  Territory,  and  other  Purposes,"  pro- 
vided for  the  extension  of  the  jurisdiction  of  the  United 
States  courts,  the  establishment  of  town-sites,  the  enrollment 
of  tribal  citizens,  and  for  innumerable  other  civilising  meas- 
ures. The  duties  of  the  Dawes  Commission,  which  had 
headquarters  at  Muscogee,  were  carefully  outlined.  Govern- 

123 


124  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

ment  representatives  sent  to  the  Indian  Territory  to  encour- 
age reluctant  Chickasaws  to  enter  into  the  Atoka  Agreement, 
laid  stress  upon  the  fact  that  the  White  Father  at  Washing- 
ton was  true  to  his  word,  inasmuch  as  the  sixty-six  thousand 
or  more  Indian  citizens  would  be  able  to  hold  their  lands  in 
severalty,  after  they  had  provided  generously  for  the  twenty 
thousand  negro  freedmen  in  the  Territory. 

In  the  train  of  these  federal  agents  had  come  a  horde  of 
speculators,  who  from  ignorant  and  improvident  members  of 
the  Five  Nations  succeeded  in  obtaining  options  and  claims 
upon  prospective  individual  holdings.  Vainly  George  Beau- 
mont and  Henry  Sands  worked  to  prevent  the  robbery  of  the 
Chickasaws.  With  Judge  Maury  as  their  legal  adviser, 
they  were  now  and  then  able  to  circumvent  some  bold 
scheme  of  the  land  grabbers,  but  the  two  men  were  power- 
less to  guard  more  than  a  small  number  against  the  un- 
scrupulous fortune  hunters  who  poured  in  from  north  and 
south,  from  east  and  west. 

Wauchula  had  grown  marvellously  in  the  five  years  that 
had  passed  since  the  Beaumonts  took  Stuart  to  the  church 
fair.  The  town,  once  distinguished  for  its  lack  of  any  form 
of  government,  was  now  a  duly  incorporated  city.  Streets 
had  been  surveyed  and  building  lines  established.  Water- 
works and  street  lights  were  not  unattainable  ambitions. 

Hattakowa  and  Beaumont  walked  down  the  main  street 
to  the  extreme  end  of  the  town,  where  was  situated  the  little 
white  cottage  Mrs.  Dixon  had  built,  because  she  wanted  a 
place  in  which  she  could  pass  her  time  when  she  became  lonely 
on  the  ranch.  Here  they  found  Mrs.  Dixon  and  Pakali 
sitting  upon  the  porch,  for  the  night  was  warm  and  a 
crescent  moon  was  dimly  lighting  the  tiny  garden,  where 
many  roses  were  blooming. 

"  You  are  back  early,"  said  Mrs.  Dixon.  "  I  thought 
you  went  to  a  meeting  of  the  Non-Progressive  Indians." 

"  We  did,  but  the  Chickasaws  were  not  in  a  talkative 


SUMMERTIME  125 

mood  to-night,"  Beaumont  answered,  "  and  Ogden  Maury 
was  quick  in  writing  the  outline  of  the  protest  we  are  going 
to  send  to  Washington." 

"  Young  Maury  has  become  more  of  an  Indian  in  sym- 
pathy than  some  of  the  fullbloods,"  Mrs.  Dixon  declared 
with  a  laugh.  "  Since  he  married  Virginia  Mattison  he  has 
become  more  indignant  at  Indian  wrongs  than  anyone  else 
in  the  Nation,  except" — and  she  leaned  forward  to  tap  Hat- 
takowa  upon  the  shoulder — "  except  this  son  of  mine, 
whose  Chickasaw  and  Choctaw  blood  is  often  at  the  boiling 
point." 

"  Even  Mrs.  Maury  is  something  of  an  Indian  nowadays." 
It  was  Pakali  who  spoke,  from  a  far-off  corner  of  the  porch, 
where  her  light  gown  vaguely  revealed  her  presence.  "  Her 
chief  dread  used  to  be  that  she  might  become  grandmother 
to  a  family  of  Indians,  but  she  seems  to  think  that  Virginia's 
children  are  the  most  remarkable  little  creatures  in  the  world, 
and  she  loves  Reginald,  who  looks  as  if  he  were  a  fullblood, 
much  more  than  the  little  red-haired  Genevieve." 

"  Think  to  what  depths  we  Indians  have  fallen  when  the 
children  who  have  Chickasaw  and  Choctaw  blood  in  their 
veins  are  called  Reginald  and  Genevieve!  "  said  Hattakowa. 
"  Do  you  wonder  that  I  am  more  of  a  savage  every  day  I 
live?" 

His  rich  voice  had  an  earnest  ring  beneath  the  jesting  tone. 
The  moon,  coming  out  from  behind  a  cloud,  showed  his  face 
and  figure  plainly,  and  they  who  looked  at  him  laughed  at 
his  assumption  that  he  was  still  a  barbarian. 

"  Young  Maury  is  going  to  get  into  trouble  with  his 
father-in-law  and  brother-in-law,"  said  Beaumont.  "  The 
Mattisons  are  likely  to  carry  their  so-called  progressive  prin- 
ciples to  a  point  where  there  \vill  be  an  open  rupture  with 
the  squaw  man  who  allies  himself  to  the  other  side." 

"  The  day  is  not  far  off  when  disagreements  upon  the 
subject  of  Indian  progressiveness  will  not  be  confined  to 


126  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

families;  it  will  divide  our  whole  Nation,"  prophesied  Mrs. 
Dixon. 

"  Totopehah,  have  you  been  reading  the  signs  again  ?  " 
Beaumont  asked,  laughing  carelessly.  "  Perhaps  you  can  tell 
us  how  many  acres  of  land  each  Chickasaw  will  have  when 
Uncle  Sam  finishes  his  little  problem  in  long  division.  At  the 
rate  that  car-loads  of  fraudulent  claimants  are  being  brought 
in  for  enrollment  we  are  likely  to  receive  about  enough  for  a 
nigger's  corn  patch." 

"  One  does  not  have  to  read  the  skies  or  listen  to  the  wood- 
land sounds  to  find  out  that  we  shall  have  little  enough  by 
the  time  we  are  free  and  equal  citizens  of  the  United  States." 
Mrs.  Dixon  spoke  with  a  touch  of  bitterness.  "  When 
Hattakowa  was  a  baby  it  was  figured  that  each  one  of  us 
Chickasaws  and  Choctaws  could  count  his  share  by  thou- 
sands of  acres." 

"  It  is  the  Indian  with  the  large  family  who  will  be  the 
rich  man  when  the  allotment  is  completed,"  said  Beaumont, 
as  he  rose  to  light  his  pipe.  "  There's  a  squaw  man  over  in 
Paul's  valley  who  has  thirteen  children.  There  may  be 
others  by  the  time  the  Dawes  Commission  investigates  his 
claim.  He  is  the  most  worthless  fellow  within  a  radius  of 
an  hundred  miles,  but  he  will  be  in  a  position  to  make  an 
advantageous  deal  with  some  of  the  land-grabbing  syndi- 
cates." 

"Are  you  speaking  of  Gee-Haw  Blikens?"  Hattakowa 
inquired.  "  He  doesn't  live  in  Paul's  valley  any  more;  he 
has  taken  up  a  whole  valley  of  his  own  up  north,  near  here. 
They  tell  the  story  that  when  one  of  the  Blikens  family  of 
children  was  drowned  in  a  well  last  month,  Gee-Haw  sighed 
mournfully :  '  That  there  youngun's  death  has  lost  me  per- 
haps eight  hundred  acres  of  land/  '' 

"  What  an  unkind  story,  Hattakowa,"  Pakali  exclaimed 
reprovingly. 

The  two  men  laughed  as  they  assured  her  that  Blikens  was 


SUMMERTIME  127 

Indeed  a  mercenary  man,  and  the  sound  of  their  voices  was 
heard  in  a  first-floor  bedroom,  where  a  well-grown  boy  of 
four  was  sleeping.  He  stirred  uneasily.  Then,  raising  him- 
self in  bed,  he  listened  for  several  moments.  Drowsily 
tumbling  upon  his  feet,  the  child  ran  out  to  the  porch. 

"  Big  grandfather  is  happy,"  cried  Miko,  quickly  climbing 
upon  Beaumont's  knee.  Clad  in  his  long,  white  robe  Miko 
might  easily  have  been  mistaken  for  a  little  girl,  and  Hatta- 
kowa  teasingly  informed  the  boy  that  he  supposed  Genevieve 
Maury  had  come  to  see  them. 

This  insinuation  Miko  proudly  ignored,  for  he  was  busy 
searching  his  grandfather's  pockets  for  anything  he  might 
wish  to  confiscate. 

"  Miko,  dear,  you  must  go  back  to  bed,"  Pakali  admon- 
ished, gently. 

The  child  rested  his  black  head  upon  Beaumont's  expan- 
sive shirt  front. 

"  Let  me  stay  a  little  while.  I  want  to  ask  the  Man 
Looking  for  the  Sun  what  happened  to  the  fourth  little  fish 
he  told  me  about.  I  can  'member  three  of  'em,  but  the 
other  I  forget." 

"  The  fourth  fish  was  not  foolish,  Miko,"  Hattakowa 
answered,  "  for  he  stayed  at  home  in  his  little  pond." 

"  And  was  he  wise  and  happy?  "  Miko  leaned  far  forward 
over  his  grandfather's  protecting  arm  in  order  that  he  might 
listen  intently. 

"  The  story  does  not  tell  us  that.  Each  one  who  hears  it 
is  to  decide  for  himself." 

"  Mother,  tell  me,  tell  me." 

Miko's  appeal  brought  Pakali  from  her  place  to  sit  upon 
the  step  at  her  father's  feet. 

"  I  don't  know  the  story,  so  how  can  I  judge  whether  the 
little  fish  was  happy  or  unhappy?  "  she  said. 

11  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun  knows  it.  He  told  it  to 
me,"  Miko  said. 


128  THE   MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

"  All  the  fishes  lived  in  a  little  stream,"  explained  Hatta- 
kowa,  "  and  three  were  discontented.  One  longed  for  wings, 
and  by  and  by  he  found  he  could  fly.  So  he  left  the  little 
stream,  and,  soaring  far  under  the  hot  sun,  he  came  to  the 
desert,  where  he  died.  The  second  longed  for  the  great 
ocean,  and  an  eel  that  had  come  into  the  little  stream  offered 
to  show  him  the  way.  They  swam  and  swam  until  they 
reached  the  salt  water",  but  before  the  little  fish  had  time  to 
admire  the  beautiful  shells  and  the  waving  sea  grasses  a  big 
fish  came  along  and  swallowed  him.  The  third  little  fish 
often  rose  to  the  top  of  the  water,  where  he  could  look  out 
upon  the  world.  Here  he  found,  one  early  morning,  a  tempt- 
ing breakfast  in  the  shape  of  a  fine  angle  worm.  He  nibbled 
at  the  worm  and  lo !  he  was  caught  upon  a  terrible  hook  and 
dragged  out  of  the  stream  to  die  slowly.  The  fourth  little 
fish,  who  stayed  at  home  without  longing  to  see  the  world, 
lived  to  a  good  old  age." 

"  I  like  that  story,"  Miko  said,  clapping  his  hands.  "  I 
shall  'member  now  what  happened  to  the  fourth  little  fish." 

"  It  has  an  especially  fine  moral  for  Chickasaws,"  com- 
mented Hattakowa  with  a  smile.  "  I  always  feel  like  the 
second  little  fish  whenever  I  go  to  Kansas  City." 

"  But  my  Miko  must  go  out  into  the  world,"  declared 
Pakali. 

Miko  slipped  from  his  grandfather's  lap.  Throwing  him- 
self into  Hattakowa's  arms,  he  cried : 

"  When  I  am  big  I  shall  be  a  great  hunter,  like  the  Man 
Looking  for  the  Sun." 

Hattakowa  stroked  the  child's  soft  hair. 

"  Your  mother  wants  you  to  go  into  the  world,  not  the 
woods,"  he  replied.  "  She  would  have  you  live  as  a  white 
man,  not  as  an  Indian." 

"  I  would  have  my  son  escape  the  humiliations  that  are 
the  lot  of  the  Indian,"  Pakali  said.  She  was  silent  for  a 
moment,  then,  with  an  effort,  she  went  on:  "  Miko  is  only 


SUMMERTIME  129 

one-eighth  Chickasaw  and  Choctaw,  but  it  is  my  ambition 
to  make  him  proud  that  he  is  an  Indian.  He  shall  be  edu- 
cated with  the  idea  that  when  he  comes  to  manhood  he  may 
be  able  to  work  for  our  dying  race.  I  am  glad  he  looks  so 
much  like  an  Indian,  for  his  dark  eyes  and  brown  skin  will 
help  him  to  gain  the  confidence  of  our  people." 

"  If  Miko's  hair  were  light,  if  he  were  indeed  a  pale  face, 
I  could  not  love  him,"  asserted  Hattakowa,  resting  the  boy's 
nodding  head  against  his  arm. 

"  You  remember  that  Miko  was  six  months  old  before 
Hattakowa  would  look  at  him,"  said  Mrs.  Dixon.  "  Even 
though  I  told  him  that  the  child  was  a  perfect  little  Indian, 
he  waited  until  we  were  sure  the  baby  would  not  outgrow 
his  Chickasaw-Choctaw  appearance." 

"  It  seems  a  long  time  since  Miko  was  a  baby."  Pakali 
had  moved  close  to  Hattakowa,  and  she  spoke  softly,  looking 
into  the  face  of  her  distant  kinsman.  "  When  he  first  came 
to  me  I  could  not  have  believed  that  I  should  be  able  to  go 
on  with  my  life." 

Pakali's  soft  tones  had  a  tremolo  in  them  and  her  father, 
leaning  forward,  took  her  hand  with  an  affectionate  pres- 
sure. 

"  The  Little  Mother  always  preached  that  we  must  not 
live  unto  ourselves,"  he  said.  "  There  is  much  for  you  to 
do  here  among  the  Indians  of  the  Chickasaw  Nation." 

Miko,  who  had  drowsed  as  he  nestled  in  Hattakowa's 
arms,  murmured  in  a  disturbed  dream:  "The  fourth  little 
fish — the  fourth  little  fish " 

"  Push-Kush-Miko  is  not  comfortable.  Shall  I  carry  him 
to  bed  ?  "  asked  Hattakowa,  with  his  face  close  to  the  child's. 
Rising,  he  bore  Pakali's  son  into  the  house. 


CHAPTER   XVI 
AN   EXPERIMENT   IN   FRIENDSHIP 

BECAUSE  her  father  had  used  all  his  powers  of  persuasion 
Pakali  had  consented  to  accept  her  aunt's  invitation  to  visit 
for  several  weeks  in  Wauchula.  After  the  crushing  realisa- 
tion that  her  husband  desired  to  desert  her,  more  than  a 
year  had  passed  before  Pakali  recovered  her  health.  Her 
father  had  written  a  stern  letter,  in  which  he  told  Stuart  that 
Pakali  lived  no  longer  for  the  white  man  who  could  not 
hear  her  cry  of  loneliness  and  agony.  To  this  Pakali  had 
added  a  postscript,  penned  with  a  weak  hand :  "  The  gate 
of  your  golden  city  has  been  closed  against  me.  To-day  I 
put  a  bolt  outside  the  gate,  lest  in  pity  you  may  some  day 
desire  to  open  it." 

After  that  the  baby  helped  to  keep  the  sad-hearted  young 
mother  alive.  In  a  year  or  two  the  pain  in  Pakali's  heart 
was  dulled,  but  as  time  went  by  she  felt  the  morbid  sensi- 
tiveness about  meeting  her  friends  increase  instead  of  di- 
minish. When  Miko  did  not  occupy  her  attention  she 
passed  much  time  with  her  books  and  she  went  back  to  her 
long-neglected  music.  It  was  odd,  she  thought,  as  she  sat 
at  the  grand  piano  in  the  parlour,  that  Stuart  had  seldom 
heard  her  play.  She  was  glad  the  music  was  not  associated 
with  her  ill-fated  romance,  and  she  found  that  it  healed 
the  hurts  when  her  sore  spirit  became  rebellious.  At  first  the 
outdoor  world  failed  to  soothe  her  in  the  old  way,  because 
every  walk  and  drive  near  Tishomingo  was  associated  with 
Stuart.  In  time,  however,  nature  again  spoke  to  her  directly 
instead  of  through  some  memory.  Only  one  place  forever 
held  associations  too  sacred  to  be  disturbed  or  outlived — that 

130 


THE    EXPERIMENT    IN    FRIENDSHIP     131 

was  the  nook  down  by  Pennington  Creek.  There  she  had 
talked  to  Arnold  Stuart  on  the  first  day  of  their  acquaintance. 
There,  where  the  waters  murmured,  her  heart  had  awakened 
to  the  call  of  love.  There,  walled  up  in  a  crevice  of  the  rock, 
were  the  bits  of  wood  with  which  she  had  marked  the  most 
precious  days  of  her  life. 

Since  her  disillusionment  four  years  had  gone  by,  one  so 
much  like  another  that,  looking  back  she  remembered  noth- 
ing excepting  little  incidents  connected  with  her  child.  One 
month  was  made  eventful  because  Miko  learned  to  walk; 
another  was  ma-rked  by  his  recovery  from  an  infantile  disease ; 
and  still  another  stood  out  by  reason  of  his  first  appearance 
in  trousers.  Now  that  Miko  was  four  years  old  Beaumont 
frequently  pointed  out  the  necessity  of  considering  the  child's 
education,  and  he  hinted  that  Pakali  could  not  afford  to 
seclude  herself  in  Moma  Binna  lest  she  might  do  wrong  to 
her  son,  who  was  entitled  to  the  best  advantages.  Miko 
must  not  grow  up  to  find  his  mother  living  apart  from  the 
world.  He  must  find  her  not  unlike  the  mothers  of  other 
boys.  He  must  have  friends  and  playmates.  For  that  reason 
she  had  nerved  herself  for  the  visit  to  Wauchula. 

Mrs.  Dixon  and  Pakali  had  risen  early,  for  they  had 
planned  to  make  some  changes  in  the  interior  of  the  cottage. 

"  A  woman  who  has  no  daughter  finds  it  hard  to  keep 
up  with  the  times,"  Mrs.  Dixon  had  said  with  a  sigh,  as 
she  looked  about  the  living  room,  which  was  stiff  and  unin- 
viting in  the  disposal  of  the  tables  and  chairs,  the  hanging  of 
pictures  and  the  draping  of  curtains.  The  two  negro 
servants  were  brought  in  to  move  things  at  Pakali's  direction. 
Mrs.  Dixon  had  exercised  good  taste  in  her  choice  of  mat- 
tings and  rattan  furniture,  and  Pakali  soon  transformed  the 
living-room,  upon  the  floor  of  which  Navajo  blankets  were 
spread.  A  bowl  of  roses  was  placed  upon  the  table  beside 
Hattakowa's  tobacco  jar,  and  the  picturesque  pipe  rack  that 
Mrs.  Dixon  had  forbidden  her  son  to  bring  into  the  place 


132  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

where  she  received  her  company,  was  hung  over  the  mantel. 
Hattakowa's  books  were  arranged  upon  low  shelves  near  his 
favourite  easy  chair  and  Mrs.  Dixon's  best  sofa  cushions  were 
put  out  of  sight  because  they  were  such  elaborate  specimens 
of  needlework  that  they  could  not  be  used.  In  their  place 
Pakali  piled  pillows  covered  with  pretty  chintzes. 

By  noon  the  whole  cottage  had  been  transformed,  even  the 
bay-windowed  dining-room  had  received  a  share  of  attention. 

When  Hattakowa  came  in  to  the  midday  dinner  he  was 
quick  to  express  his  appreciation  of  the  changes. 

"  Pakali,  you  are  always  my  good  angel !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  How  did  you  manage  to  persuade  mother  to  let  me  be 
comfortable  in  her  best  room?  I  shall  be  inclined  to  stay  in 
the  cottage  all  the  time." 

"  I  wish  you  would  leave  the  ranch  forever,"  Mrs.  Dixon 
said.  "  We  ought  to  build  a  big  house  here  with  a  special 
wing  for  Pakali  and  Miko." 

Standing  in  the  doorway  Hattakowa  stifled  the  longing 
in  his  heart,  yet  he  dared  not  trust  himself  to  speak. 

The  negro  cook  came  to  ask  Mrs.  Dixon  if  she  wished 
to  see  whether  a  dish  of  "  Tom  Fuller  "  was  prepared  to  suit 
her,  and,  while  a  consultation  was  being  held  over  the  hulled 
corn,  Hattakowa  and  Pakali  were  left  tete-a-tete. 

"  It  is  good  to  have  you  here  with  us,"  said  Hattakowa, 
standing  near  the  chair  in  which  Pakali  was  resting  after 
her  morning's  activities.  "  I  meant  to  go  back  to  the  ranch 
to-day,  but  I  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  the  loneliness 
there  after  these  few  days  with  you." 

"  I  have  been  almost  happy  since  I  came  to  Wauchula," 
Pakali  answered.  "  It  has  seemed  as  if  we  were  boy  and 
girl  again." 

"  I  remember,"  he  answered  in  steady  tones,  "  that  you  are 
the  wife  of  a  white  man  who  was  given  the  power  to  win 
your  love.  I  knew  that  you  would  not  forgive  me  if  I  killed 
him,  but  once  I  was  not  too  proud  or  too  good  to  dream 


THE    EXPERIMENT    IN    FRIENDSHIP      133 

that  I  might  some  day  supersede  him.  Then  I  stayed  away 
from  you  for  fear  I  should  reveal  my  weakness  and  unworthi- 
ness.  In  the  nights  when  I  lay  out  under  the  sky  after  long 
days  of  hunting,  I  dared  to  picture  you  in  my  home.  I  tried 
to  think  that  you  were  so  much  a  white  woman  that  you 
might  some  day  obtain  a  divorce." 

Pakali  rose  with  a  quick  gesture  that  indicated  the  pain 
she  suffered  from  the  opening  of  old  wounds.  "  Hattakowa, 
you  are  cruel,"  she  cried. 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  be,  but,  after  the  long  silence,  we  must 
understand  each  other." 

Hattakowa  placed  his  hands  upon  her  arms  and  gently  put 
her  back  into  her  chair. 

"  Pakali,  even  though  there  have  been  times  when  I 
thought  you  might  belong  to  me  at  last,  there  came  the  final 
realisation  that  the  great  love  would  not  let  me  call  you  my 
wife  while  the  white  man,  the  father  of  your  child,  still 
lived,"  he  said  solemnly.  "  Then,  in  imagination,  I  took 
Arnold  Stuart's  life.  A  thousand  times  since  he  made  you 
suffer  I  have  known  the  fierce  delight  of  killing  him.  As  I 
stand  here  talking  with  you,  I  wonder  that  I  have  let  these 
four  years  pass  without  taking  the  blood  vengeance  that  your 
wrongs  demand." 

He  paused  to  control  the  tumult  in  his  breast. 

"  Now,  I  am  stronger,"  he  assured  her.  "  Since  I  may 
not  claim  you  for  my  own,  I  may  yet  be  near  you  now  and 
then,  and  to  Miko  I  may  give  the  affection  that  would  have 
belonged  to  the  sons  who  will  never  be  mine." 

Pakali's  face  paled  as  she  listened.  "  Hush,  Hattakowa," 
she  said  brokenly.  "  I  thought  you  had  outlived  what  you 
call  the  great  love." 

"  Then  I  have  been  a  better  actor  than  I  supposed  I  could 
be,"  replied  Hattakowa.  "  Here  in  my  own  house  I  should 
not  tell  you  the  truth  in  the  candid  way  that  is  the  Indian's, 
but  we  were  ever  so  sincere  in  dealing  with  each  other  that 


134  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

I  could  not  come  to  you  with  the  longing  to  enjoy  something 
of  the  old  companionship  unless  I  told  you  that  you  are  still 
in  my  innermost  consciousness  not  only  the  Star  Woman, 
but  the  woman  to  be  desired  above  all  others.  I  shall  not 
disturb  you  by  speaking  of  my  love,  but  it  is  only  right  that 
you  should  understand  how  impossible  it  is  for  me  to  play 
that  I  am  your  brother." 

"  Shall  we  try  to  make  the  best  of  what  is  left  to  us, 
Hattakowa?  "  Pakali  looked  through  her  tears  at  the  strong 
face  of  her  distant  kinsman. 

Miko,  rushing  in  with  a  round,  white  ball  of  a  puppy, 
paused  for  a  moment  to  look  first  into  the  face  of  his  mother 
and  then  to  scan  the  countenance  of  Hattakowa. 

"  Miko  has  been  good.  Why  does  mother  cry?  "  the 
boy  said  with  the  egotism  of  childhood. 

Pakali  lifted  him  in  her  arms.  "  Miko  brings  smiles,  not 
tears,"  she  answered. 


CHAPTER    XVII 
THE   CYCLONE 

MRS.  DIXON  and  Pakali  had  made  careful  preparations  for 
a  dinner  to  which  Hattakowa  had  invited  General  Chillings- 
worth  and  Philip  Marchand,  two  strangers  in  Wauchula. 
The  recent  abrogation  of  the  mineral  leases  in  the  Territory 
had  caused  many  complications,  which  General  Chillings- 
worth,  as  an  inspector  for  the  Department  of  the  Interior, 
had  been  sent  to  adjust. 

Marchand  was  a  young  Kentuckian  who  had  come  to  the 
Territory  to  work  with  the  Dawes  Commission.  When  the 
two  guests  arrived  at  the  Dixon  cottage,  Pakali,  after  greeting 
the  white-haired  old  army  officer,  looked  up  to  meet  a  pair 
of  quizzical  grey  eyes  that  plainly  spoke  something  of  the 
surprise  and  admiration  their  owner  felt.  The  stranger  was 
not  at  all  like  the  white  man  who  had  come  to  the  Nation 
five  years  before,  yet  Pakali  was  conscious  of  a  sudden  pang 
of  memory.  Arnold  Stuart  had  been  tall  and  fair;  this  man 
was  of  medium  height  and  his  hair  was  brown.  Arnold  had 
shown  an  easy  confidence  of  manner;  Marchand  bowed  with 
a  courtesy  that  had  in  it  a  touch  of  reverence. 

Beaumont  had  been  expected  from  Moma  Binna  and  he 
arrived  as  Mrs.  Dixon  was  placing  her  guests  at  the  table. 
The  conversation  soon  became  interesting.  In  his  own  house 
Hattakowra  was  the  irreproachable  host,  for  his  boasted  ad- 
herence to  primitive  ways  gave  him  a  simplicity  of  manner 
that  put  everyone  at  ease.  General  Chillingsworth,  who  was 
a  courtly  old  man,  immediately  made  friends  with  Hattakowa 
and  Beaumont. 

No  one  knew  better  than  Beaumont  the  history  of  every- 

135 


136  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

thing  pertaining  to  the  Five  Nations,  and,  under  skilful  cross 
examination,  he  gave  an  entertaining  account  of  the  efforts 
of  an  asphalt  company  to  obtain  control  of  promising  land. 
Marchand,  who  manifested  an  interest  in  the  matters  under 
discussion  because  all  that  pertained  to  life  was  significant  to 
him,  showed  that  he  had  made  good  use  of  a  few  days' 
sojourn  in  Muscogee  by  accumulating  much  information. 
He  had  been  seated  next  to  Pakali,  and  he  secretly  rejoiced 
in  what  he  called  his  luck.  Her  evening  dress  of  some  thin 
black  material  revealed  her  distinctive  beauty.  He  noticed 
the  long  curve  of  her  neck,  the  rounded  outline  of  her  chin, 
and  the  fine  modelling  of  her  head.  When  she  smiled,  with 
her  long-lashed  eyelids  shading  the  light  of  a  spirit  that  lured 
him  with  its  mystery  of  blended  races,  he  was  fascinated. 

The  incense  of  Marchand's  admiration  was  exhilarat- 
ing to  Pakali,  who  was  too  natural  a  woman  not  to  enjoy  the 
young  Kentuckian's  flattering  tribute.  Marchand  found  life 
worth  while,  and  there  was  something  in  his  boyish  per- 
sonality that  brought  back  her  youth.  She  had  thought  that 
association  with  Hattakowa  had  recalled  her  girlhood,  but 
there  was  always  between  them  the  memory  of  the  five  years 
of  her  womanhood;  the  consciousness  that  she  had  eaten  of 
the  tree  of  knowledge  could  not  be  banished.  With  Mar- 
chand she  could  confine  herself  to  the  present. 

The  curtains  had  been  drawn  and  the  lamps  lighted  be- 
cause the  dusk  came  suddenly,  when  the  mulatto  girl,  who 
was  waiting  upon  the  table,  whispered  to  Mrs.  Dixon  that 
the  cook  was  so  much  scared  the  biscuits  had  been  allowed  to 
burn.  "  She  says  a  cyclone's  comin',"  the  servant  announced 
in  a  tone  that  arrested  the  attention  of  everyone  at  the  table. 

"  You  darkies  are  always  expecting  cyclones,"  said 
Hattakowa.  "  I  suppose  smoke  is  coming  out  of  the  stack 
of  the  cotton  compress  and  Aunt  Polly  thinks  she  sees  a 
funnel-shaped  cloud." 

Hattakowa  took  the  precaution  to  pull  aside  the  curtains 


THE    CYCLONE  137 

in  the  bay  window.  What  he  saw  caused  him  to  look 
serious.  The  sky  was  heavy  and  the  air  had  become  op- 
pressive. Clouds  of  a  peculiar  greenish  tinge  had  been 
drawn  together  into  a  twisted  pillar  that  appeared  to  reach 
to  the  earth.  Not  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring  and  the  omi- 
nous quiet  foretold  an  impending  storm. 

"  It  does  look  as  if  we  might  have  a  high  wind,"  Hatta- 
kowa  said. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  entertain  me  with  a  cyclone," 
General  Chillingsworth  answered,  as  the  little  party  rose 
from  the  table.  "  I  have  been  through  all  sorts  of  ex- 
periences in  my  life  but,  so  far,  cyclones  have  not  been  among 
them." 

"  Indian  Territory  has  seldom  suffered  from  cyclones. 
Oklahoma  is  more  unfortunate,"  Beaumont  declared,  reas- 
suringly. 

"  We  have  had  enough  narrow  escapes  from  destruction 
here  in  the  Chickasaw  Nation  to  encourage  the  general  owner- 
ship of  cyclone  cellars,"  Mrs.  Dixon  asserted,  "  and  I  can 
predict  that  we  shall  find  it  advisable  to  spend  the  evening 
where  we  shall  be  out  of  harm's  reach." 

Without  delay  she  began  to  give  instructions  to  the  negro 
man  servant,  whom  she  had  summoned.  The  silver  was  has- 
tily put  into  a  basket  and  a  few  valuables  were  gathered  into 
bags,  Pakali  and  Marchand  helping  with  the  preparations, 
while  Hattakowa  went  to  the  stables  to  look  after  his  horses, 
for  the  neighing  of  the  frightened  animals  had  given  added 
warning  of  approaching  danger. 

Within  a  quarter  of  an  hour  a  high  wind  was  blowing. 
Miko,  who  had  run  in  from  the  cook  house,  stood  in  a  door- 
way whence  he  looked  with  interest  upon  a  scene  of  activity 
which  promised  entertainment. 

Without  waiting  to  perform  the  duties  assigned  to  them 
the  servants,  excepting  Mammy  'Liza,  fled  to  the  end  of  the 
garden  where  the  smaller  of  the  two  cyclone  cellars  had  been 


i38  THE    MAN    OF    YESTERDAY 

assigned  to  them  as  their  special  place  of  refuge.  Here  a 
dozen  negroes  from  the  neighbourhood  were  .already  in 
possession. 

The  pillar  of  cloud  deepened  in  colour  and  Beaumont  de- 
clared it  was  time  for  the  entire  family  to  leave  the  cottage. 
The  larger  of  the  two  cyclone  cellars  was  but  a  few  steps 
from  the  rear  of  the  house.  Its  rounded  top,  a  foot  or  two 
above  the  level  of  the  ground,  was  covered  with  vines,  which 
ran  up  the  big  air  shaft  that  ventilated  the  subterranean  room. 
On  one  slanting  side,  heavy  doors  opened  upon  strong  iron 
hinges. 

A  terrific  gust  of  wind  caused  a  hasty  retreat  into  the  cellar. 
With  Marchand's  help  Beaumont  closed  the  big  double  doors 
after  Mrs.  Dixon,  Pakali,  and  Miko  had  been  assisted  down 
the  steep  steps  by  General  Chillingsworth.  For  a  moment 
they  were  in  darkness,  but  Mrs.  Dixon  soon  lighted  a  lamp 
the  glow  of  which  revealed  a  comfortably  furnished  room  of 
ample  dimensions. 

"  This  is  a  most  extraordinary  situation !  Most  extraor- 
dinary !  "  exclaimed  General  Chillingsworth,  who  was  per- 
spiring from  his  unusual  exertions.  He  polished  the  top  of 
his  bald  head  with  his  handkerchief  and  looked  about  with 
a  smile  that  had  in  it  more  or  less  apprehension.  Marchand 
laughed  at  the  dignified  old  man's  perturbation,  which  was 
only  half  concealed  beneath  his  efforts  to  appear  at  ease. 

"  We  ought  to  appreciate  our  opportunities  of  getting  ac- 
quainted with  life  in  the  Indian  Territory,"  he  said. 

"  This  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever  thought  it  worth  while 
to  seek  protection  in  a  cyclone  cellar,"  Beaumont  announced, 
with  a  loyal  desire  to  defend  his  part  of  the  country. 

"  We  do  not  usually  spend  our  evenings  here,"  Pakali 
testified.  "  Father  and  I  have  teased  Aunt  Totopehah 
because  she  would  have  these  two  dugouts  in  her  garden. 
There  is  not  a  cyclone  cellar  in  Tishomingo." 

Miko,  pulling  at  her  skirt,  demanded  attention. 


THE    CYCLONE  139 

"  \Vhere  is  the  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Hattakowa?  Where  is  Hattakowa?  "  the  child's  mother 
cried,  turning  to  Mrs.  Dixon  with  a  questioning  look. 

Hattakowa  himself  answered  the  question  by  opening  one 
of  the  doors  and  hastily  descending  the  steps.  As  he  came  in, 
the  wind  blew  out  the  lamp. 

"  This  is  the  worst  storm  we  have  ever  had,"  said  Hatta- 
kowa, after  the  lamp  had  been  relighted.  As  he  spoke,  there 
was  a  distant  roaring  sound,  terrible  in  its  volume  and  im- 
port. The  women  looked  into  each  other's  pale  faces  and 
the  men  drew  all  the  chairs  into  a  small  circle.  Miko,  climb- 
ing into  his  mother's  lap,  buried  his  face  upon  her  bosom. 
With  her  arms  around  her  child  Pakali  whispered  to  him 
not  to  be  afraid,  and  even  while  she  spoke  there  was  a  crash 
that  shook  the  earth.  For  a  few  seconds  everyone  in  the 
cyclone  cellar  was  stunned.  Hattakowa  put  one  arm  around 
his  mother  and  the  other  across  Miko  as  the  child  lay  in 
Pakali's  lap. 

Neither  Pakali  nor  Mrs.  Dixon  uttered  a  cry,  for  the 
Indian  habit  of  self-control  survived  in  them  to  such  an 
extent  that  they  were  able  to  wait  quietly  for  whatever  might 
befall.  General  Chillingsworth  and  Marchand  almost  for- 
got their  own  peril  as  they  watched  the  little  group  whose 
Chickasaw  and  Choctaw  heredity  had  given  them  such  splen- 
did courage.  Only  a  few  seconds  had  elapsed  from  the  time 
of  the  first  roar  of  the  storm  to  the  final  crash,  but  to  those 
who  listened  it  seemed  that  many  moments  had  passed. 
Presently  it  was  evident  that  the  storm's  fury  had  abated 
but  for  a  long  time  the  falling  of  trees  was  distinguishable. 
Then  there  was  a  downpour  of  rain  that  beat  upon  the  closed 
doors  with  a  noise  that  made  conversation  impossible.  As 
soon  as  he  could  be  heard,  Beaumont  began  to  speculate  upon 
the  probable  extent  of  the  cyclone. 

"  We  have  been  touched  by  only  the  edge  of  the  storm," 
he  said. 


i4o  THE   MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

"  Well,  if  this  is  the  edge  I  am  glad  I  didn't  get  into  the 
middle  of  it,"  General  Chillingsworth  asserted. 

"  Yes,  the  edge  is  all  I  want,"  averred  Marchand. 

"Do  you  suppose  the  cottage  is  gone?"  asked  Mrs. 
Dixon. 

"  As  soon  as  it  is  possible  to  walk  in  the  wind  I  shall  go 
out  to  see  what  has  happened,"  said  Hattakowa.  "  I  am 
afraid  there  will  be  plenty  of  work  for  strong  men  wherever 
the  cyclone  has  wrecked  buildings." 

"  We  shall  probably  find  plenty  to  do,"  Beaumont  said. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  go  with  you,"  Marchand  quietly  re- 
marked, and  the  old  General  announced  that  he  would  be  one 
of  the  party. 

More  than  an  hour  elapsed  before  Hatta...jwa  found  it 
possible  to  venture  outside  the  cellar.  It  required  all  his 
strength  to  force  open  the  slanting  doors  against  which  was 
piled  a  mass  of  broken  timbers.  He  had  taken  the  precaution 
to  have  a  number  of  lanterns  placed  in  the  cellar,  and,  select- 
ing one  of  these,  he  insisted  upon  going  out  alone  while  he 
made  a  short  scouting  trip.  He  returned  in  a  few  minutes 
to  report  that  the  cottage  was  safe  and,  bidding  the  three 
men  to  wait,  he  went  away.  Inside  the  cellar  all  tried  to 
pass  the  time  as  comfortably  as  possible.  Miko,  who  had 
fallen  asleep,  had  been  put  to  bed  upon  a  cot,  and  while 
Pakali  sat  beside  him  Marchand  talked  with  her. 

"  To-night  seems  like  a  dream,"  the  young  man  said.  "  As 
a  social  venture  an  evening  spent  in  a  cyclone  cellar  has  the 
charm  of  novelty,  and  more,  it  has  given  glimpses  of  charac- 
ter that  no  ordinary  association  could  possibly  present.  You 
won't  mind  if  I  tell  you  that  I  think  you  and  Mrs.  Dixon 
are  the  bravest  women  I  ever  saw." 

"  There  is  not  any  reason  why  you  should  call  us  brave," 
Pakali  answered.  "  We  felt  safe  down  here.  Why,  what 
did  you  expect  us  to  do?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.     Perhaps  I  hoped  you  would  scream, 


THE    CYCLONE  141 

and,  clinging  to  me,  pray  that  I  would  save  you.     That'* 
the  way  women  do  in  novels  and  plays,  you  know." 

Pakali  smiled,  and,  with  something  of  her  old  teasing 
spirit,  said: 

"  In  this  case,  even  if  I  had  given  way  to  fright,  of  course 
I  should  not  have  needed  to  turn  to  you  when  my  father 
was  so  near." 

"  Well,  even  though  I  have  not  had  the  chance  to  play  the 
part  of  hero,  I  shall  always  feel  that  I  have  a  special  claim 
upon  your  friendship,  because  we  have  gone  through  a  cy- 
clone together.  A  cyclone  certainly  ought  to  be  a  tie  between 
us." 

"  I  should  hardly  call  a  cyclone  a  tie,"  said  Pakali. 

"  You  are  right,"  admitted  the  young  man.  "  Judging 
from  the  sound,  the  cyclone  untied  about  everything  in 
Wauchula." 

.  Hattakowa  did  not  come  back  until  sunrise,  and,  during 
the  long  hours  of  his  absence,  Mrs.  Dixon  spoke  but  once 
or  twice  of  the  possibility  that  some  accident  might  have 
befallen  him.  When  he  did  return  he  found  everyone 
wearied  with  the  night  vigil.  General  Chillingsworth  and 
Beaumont  had  dozed  in  their  chairs  while  Mrs.  Dixon  had 
pretended  to  take  a  nap.  Pakali  and  Marchand  had  talked 
in  low  tones  between  long  pauses  when  they  sat  near  to- 
gether, motionless  and  silent,  lest  they  might  disturb  the 
older  members  of  the  party. 

"  Is  there  much  loss  of  life?  "  Mrs.  Dixon  asked  as  Hatta- 
kowa removed  his  dripping  outside  coat. 

"  It  is  not  possible  to  make  anything  like  an  estimate 
now,"  he  answered,  "  but  the  next  few  hours  will  give  us 
a  chance  to  get  at  the  facts." 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  back  before  ?  "  Beaumont  in- 
quired almost  angrily.  "  You  know  we  were  waiting  to 
join  a  relief  party." 

"  In  the  dark  it  was  almost  impossible  to  do  anything," 


H2  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

Hattakowa  replied.  "  I  thought  it  was  best  for  you  to  save 
your  strength.  You  men  all  come  now." 

He  threw  open  both  the  cellar  doors  and  the  rush  of 
fresh  air  revived  the  drowsy  group. 

"  I  must  stop  at  the  hotel  to  get  the  flask  of  whisky  I 
smuggled  into  the  Territory.  It  will  be  needed,"  said  Gen- 
eral Chillingsworth. 

"  Yes,  there  will  be  use  for  whisky,"  answered  Hatta- 
kowa, "  but  you  will  not  find  your  flask.  The  hotel  is 
gone." 

"The  whole  main  street  isn't  wiped  out,  is  it?"  asked 
Beaumont. 

"  No,  only  part  of  it.  The  edge  of  the  storm  touched  the 
negro  quarter  but  the  principal  force  of  the  wTind  was  spent 
at  the  point  where  the  hotel  stood." 

The  three  men  waded  through  the  mud  and  wet  grass 
of  the  garden  to  the  cottage,  which  was  but  slightly  damaged, 
and  Hattakowa  went  to  the  servants'  cyclone  cellar.  Here 
the  cook  and  housemaids  were  in  a  condition  of  fear  bor- 
dering upon  catalepsy,  and  the  two  men  servants  were  still 
too  much  terrified  to  be  available  as  assistants  in  any  work 
that  required  courage.  Mammy  'Liza  alone  appeared  to  be 
in  a  normal  state  of  mind. 

Having  sternly  ordered  all  the  servants  into  the  cook 
house  to  prepare  breakfast  for  a  large  number  of  storm  suf- 
ferers, Hattakowa  conducted  his  mother  and  Pakali  to  the 
cottage.  Tenderly  he  lifted  Miko  from  the  cot  and  the  child 
was  placed  in  his  own  little  bed  without  being  disturbed. 

Every  able-bodied  man  in  Wauchula  soon  began  to  work 
upon  the  wrecked  buildings.  Beaumont  wielded  a  pick  with 
the  strength  of  a  young  man ;  General  Chillingsworth  found 
employment  in  giving  first  aid  to  several  injured  men  who 
were  rescued  from  the  hotel,  and  Marchand  joined  the 
searchers  among  the  ruins.  Hattakowa  moved  back  and  forth 
giving  orders,  for  he  was  quick  to  see  the  necessity  for 


THE    CYCLONE  143 

organisation.  Those  who  had  served  with  him  in  the  Indian 
police  corps  readily  obeyed  his  commands.  A  temporary  hos- 
pital was  prepared  in  one  of  the  store  buildings,  and  thither 
all  the  injured  were  carried.  Twenty  families  had  been  made 
homeless  by  the  storm.  Wreckage  was  scattered  over  a  wide 
area.  In  the  dismal  grey  of  the  rainy  morning  the  scene 
was  one  of  peculiar  desolation.  All  that  remained  of  the 
pretentious  Palace  Hotel  was  a  small  pile  of  bricks  in  one 
corner. 

As  Hattakowa  passed  the  ruin  he  thought  he  heard  a  groan. 
Taking  Beaumont's  pick  he  carefully  dug  in  the  debris. 
Buried  under  broken  furniture  and  shattered  glass  he  found 
a  middle-aged  man,  frightfully  crushed.  No  one  recognised 
the  face  of  the  storm  victim.  The  man  died  while  he  was 
being  carried  to  the  temporary  hospital.  The  body  was 
identified  by  Billy  Brown,  the  Wauchula  banker,  who  had 
been  inquiring  everywhere  for  a  Kansas  acquaintance  that 
he  had  left  at  the  hotel  the  night  before. 

Brown  was  a  man  who  had  reached  a  self-satisfied  middle 
age.  His  heavy  face  had  once  been  handsome  in  its  coarse 
outlines,  but  the  marks  of  dissipation  had  disfigured  it.  His 
cheeks  were  flabby,  and  beneath  his  eyes  the  skin  puffed  out. 
He  had  a  dark  moustache  which  he  twisted  every  now  and 
then  with  a  right  hand  upon  which  flashed  a  large  diamond. 
He  was  despised  by  the  better  class  of  the  Indians  in  the 
Chickasaw  Nation.  It  was  a  matter  of  common  knowledge 
that  he  had  made  his  fortune  in  fattening  and  selling  the  lean 
cattle  and  hogs  shipped  from  the  south,  and  had  moved  into 
the  Territory  from  Kansas  because  of  the  dispute  over  the 
ownership  of  a  certain  herd  of  Texas  shorthorns. 

Brown's  manner  at  the  time  he  identified  the  dead  man 
aroused  Hattakowa's  suspicion. 

"  He  had  some  valuable  papers,"  Browrn  said,  in  an  anx- 
ious voice.  "  Has  anyone  found  a  valise  marked  '  J.  L.'?  " 

"  We  are  trying  to  save  lives,  not  baggage,  just  now," 


144  THE   MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

Hattakowa  remarked,  with  a  contemptuous  glance  at  the 
man  who  could  think  of  valuables  at  a  time  when  men, 
women  and  children  might  be  suffering. 

"  The  papers  were  public  documents,"  Brown  made  haste 
to  explain.  "  Their  loss  will  affect  many  persons." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  hinder  you  from  looking  for  them," 
Hattakowa  said  as  he  moved  away;  "but  you  might  find 
them  more  quickly  if  you  lent  a  hand  in  the  rescue  work." 

Brown  gave  him  an  ugly  look,  but  afterward  many  per- 
sons remembered  that  the  banker  had  spent  most  of  that 
day  of  disaster  near  the  ruins  of  the  hotel. 

The  storm  had  played  queer  pranks,  but  it  had  killed  no 
one  excepting  the  stranger  from  Kansas.  A  baby,  wrapped 
safe  and  warm  in  blankets, .  was  found  unhurt  in  a  spruce 
tree  several  blocks  from  the  place  where  its  parents'  house 
had  stood. 

Among  all  the  narrow  escapes  none  was  more  marvellous 
than  that  of  Judge  and  Mrs.  Maury.  Their  cottage  was 
outside  the  path  of  the  storm,  but  the  strong  wind  took  it 
off  the  high  timber  supports  which  served  in  place  of  stone 
foundations  in  most  of  the  Territory  buildings.  Ogden 
Maury,  who  lived  next  door  to  his  father  in  a  house  of 
ambitious  architecture,  saved  his  family  by  the  most  heroic 
efforts.  A  melodeon  belonging  to  the  Free  Methodist  church 
was  blown  through  the  front  of  his  house  and  found  its  way 
to  the  kitchen,  where  it  upset  a  lamp.  By  sacrificing  a  velvet 
rug  the  young  man  smothered  the  fire  before  the  burning  oil 
had  chance  to  do  much  damage. 

Hattakowa  had  sent  all  the  Maurys  to  his  mother's  home. 
Here  breakfast  was  served  near  midday  to  a  weary  and  dis- 
hevelled party. 

"  Considering  that  this  is  a  prohibition  Territory  it  is 
miraculous  how  much  good  whisky  was  found  this  morning," 
said  Judge  Maury,  after  he  had  drunk  two  cups  of  strong 
coffee  which  cleared  his  rather  hazy  vision.  Mrs.  Maury, 


THE    CYCLONE  145 

who  still  wore  her  pompadour  in  curl  papers,  although  she 
had  taken  time  to  put  on  an  elaborate  old-fashioned  dressing 
sack,  looked  at  her  husband  in  mild  reproach. 

"  Dad  had  a  right  to  drink  all  he  could  to-day,"  said 
Ogden  Maury,  who  was  holding  one  of  his  children  upon 
his  lap. 

"  A  public  calamity  always  brings  out  some  queer  phases 
of  human  nature,"  said  Beaumont.  "  I  noticed  that  every 
man  passed  around  his  flask  as  naturally  as  if  he  were  not 
aware  he  was  breaking  the  prohibition  law,  which  is  supposed 
to  prevent  the  Indians  from  becoming  drunkards." 

"  Public  calamities  always  show  how  closely  comedy  and 
tragedy  are  associated,"  commented  General  Chillings- 
worth. 

"  That  is  true,"  agreed  Hattakowa  from  the  foot  of  the 
long  table.  "  Our  friend,  Qgden  Maury,  has  always  com- 
plained that  the  Free  Methodist  melodeon  was  too  near  his 
house,  and  the  cyclone  has  moved  it  to  a  position  that  will 
enable  him  to  realise  how  wrong  it  was  for  him  to  be  dis- 
satisfied with  its  original  location." 

"  In  the  same  way  Mrs.  Maury  and  I  have  been  taught  a 
lesson,"  said  the  Judge.  "  We  have  never  liked  these  Ter- 
ritory houses  that  are  set  up  on  stilts,  and  we  have  often  found 
fault  with  our  cottage,  but  this  morning  we  agreed  that  we 
liked  it  much  better  when  it  was  on  stilts  than  when  it 
wasn't." 

"  Oh,  we  are  in  such  a  dreadful  state!  "  moaned  Mrs. 
Maury,  lifting  her  hands,  "  and,  think  of  it !  My  cut  glass 
goblets  that  have  been  in  the  family  for  three  generations 
were  smashed  into  bits!  " 

Pakali,  who  had  been  helping  her  aunt  superintend  the 
serving  of  breakfast  to  negro  victims  of  the  storm,  came  in 
accompanied  by  Miko.  The  excitement  of  the  day  had  put 
a  deep  colour  into  her  cheeks,  and  her  sense  of  gratitude  be- 
cause the  lives  of  her  relatives  and  friends  had  been  spared 


146  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

had  given  her  something  of  her  old  buoyancy  of  spirit.  She 
passed  around  the  table,  shaking  hands  with  the  twenty  per- 
sons whom  her  aunt  and  Hattakowa  were  entertaining.  Mar- 
chand  offered  her  his  seat  and  accepted  a  chair  near  the 
foot  of  the  table,  but,  while  he  talked  to  the  person  next 
him,  his  attention  often  wandered  to  Pakali,  who  had  much 
to  say  to  the  old  General. 

Conversation  was  interrupted  presently  by  a  quarrel  be- 
tween Reginald  Maury  and  Miko  over  a  coveted  position 
on  Judge  Maury's  knee,  where  a  critical  examination  of  the 
Confederate  button,  worn  on  the  lapel  of  the  Judge's  frock 
coat,  and  the  gold-faced  watch  carried  in  the  Judge's  broad- 
cloth trousers,  offered  entertainment. 

"  Miko  is  the  Judge's  little  Indian  boy,"  said  Pakali's  son 
with  an  arrogant  wave  of  his  small  hand. 

"  No,  no,"  contended  Reginald.    "  I  am  his  Indian  boy." 

Miko  looked  at  Ogden  Maury  with  some  contempt  in  his 
face. 

"  Your  father  isn't  an  Indian,"  insisted  Miko. 

"  You  haven't  any  father,"  replied  Reginald. 

A  silence  fell  upon  all  who  heard  the  children's  quarrel. 
Virginia  rushed  to  her  son  and  forcibly  removed  the  child 
from  the  room.  Miko  stood  by  the  Judge's  chair,  his  eyes 
seeking  his  mother  with  a  questioning  look.  There  was 
amazement  in  his  expression. 

"  Come  to  me,  Little  Chieftain,"  said  Hattakowa,  softly. 

Miko  lifted  his  head  proudly.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
life  had  come  to  him  a  question  concerning  the  father  whom 
he  had  never  missed. 

Some  of  the  guests  recovered  their  self-possession  enough 
to  make  a  few  casual  remarks,  but  the  high  treble  of  Miko's 
voice  was  heard  above  the  forced  conversation. 

"  Haven't  I  any  father?  "  Miko  asked.  "  Tell  me,  Man 
Looking  for  the  Sun." 


THE    CYCLONE  147 

In  an  agony  of  pain  Pakali  clasped  her  hands  under  the 
table  while  she  waited  for  the  answer. 

"  Yes,  Little  Chieftain,  you  have  a  father,  and  a  grand- 
father, and  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun,"  Hattakowa  said, 
drawing  the  boy  to  him,  and  then  whispering:  "  Miko  must 
wait  until  some  other  day  before  asking  questions." 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

BLIKENS  MAKES  A  BARGAIN 

THE  loss  of  the  papers  on  the  night  of  the  cyclone  had  given 
Billy  Brown  such  evident  concern  that  Beaumont  thought  it 
worth  while  to  ask  frequently  whether  they  had  been  re- 
covered. Beyond  the  mere  mention  of  the  name  of  the  man 
who  had  been  killed,  Brown  vouchsafed  little  information 
to  the  coroner's  jury,  and  by  the  time  the  persons  injured  in 
the  storm  had  recovered,  interest  in  the  identity  of  the 
stranger  had  vanished. 

Brown  did  not  give  up  search  for  the  lost  papers.  If  he 
could  have  been  sure  that  they  were  not  preserved  somewhere 
in  the  dead  man's  valise  he  would  have  worried  little,  be- 
cause the  rains  would  have  made  the  documents  illegible. 
For  weeks  after  the  cyclone  lost  articles  were  found  in 
places  far  removed  from  Wauchula.  A  trunk  that  had  been 
stored  in  the  hotel  was  brought  in  from  a  dry  creek  bed  a 
mile  from  the  town,  and  the  day  it  was  found  Brown  drove 
to  the  place,  which  he  examined  with  minute  care.  But, 
although  he  watched  every  foot  of  the  road  out  and  back, 
he  did  not  find  the  papers. 

On  the  day  after  the  search  he  was  sitting  in  his  private 
office  behind  the  brass  grating  that  guarded  the  bank  em- 
ployes from  the  public.  He  had  transacted  a  profitable  two 
hours'  business,  for  he  had  advanced  money  upon  the  cotton 
crops  of  three  plantations  worked  by  shiftless  whites,  who 
were  reasonably  certain  of  losing  their  year's  product  for  the 
trifling  amount  the  banker  had  lent.  Still,  he  was  out  of 
humour,  inasmuch  as  he  had  a  suspicion  that  Beaumont  or 
some  of  the  other  Indians  might  guess  the  value  of  the  lost 

148 


BLIKENS    MAKES    A    BARGAIN  149 

documents.  Brown  feared  Beaumont,  for  whose  wealth  he 
had  a  profound  respect.  The  Chickasaw  declined  to  permit 
Brown  to  make  any  overtures  toward  an  acquaintance,  so 
that  it  was  impossible  for  the  banker  to  judge  Beaumont's 
shrewdness  and  intelligence.  He  had  seen  enough  of  Sands 
to  realise  that  the  former  governor  was  a  foe  to  be  feared. 

Brown's  reflections  were  disturbed  by  the  announcement 
that  Gee-Haw  Blikens  wanted  to  see  him.  The  new- 
comer was  admitted  and  he  greeted  Brown  with  an  easy 
"  Howdy." 

Gee-Haw  Blikens  was  a  tall,  round-shouldered  man  of 
about  fifty.  He  wore  canvas  trousers  that  were  tucked  in  a 
pair  of  cowhide  boots,  and  his  blue  gingham  shirt  contrasted 
with  a  pair  of  broken  red  suspenders.  Blikens  boasted  of 
the  fact  that  he  had  not  worn  a  coat  more  than  half  a  dozen 
times  since  he  came  to  the  Territory.  He  had  a  straggly, 
grey  beard  that  partly  concealed  the  loss  of  most  of  his 
teeth,  and  his  long,  thin  hair  fell  over  his  shirt  band.  A 
soiled,  water-stained,  old  grey  hat  with  a  drooping  brim 
rested  upon  his  ears.  His  large  nose  was  red  from  the  com- 
bined effects  of  sunburn  and  a  certain  brand  of  bitters  that 
the  drug  stores  sold  in  large  quantities  to  persons  who  desired 
a  substitute  for  intoxicants. 

"  Well,  Blikens,  I  did  not  expect  to  see  you  so  soon," 
said  Brown,  motioning  to  a  chair.  "  What  can  I  do  for  you 
to-day?" 

"  As  usual,  I'm  in  need  of  money,"  was  the  reply.  Gee- 
Haw  Blikens  took  from  his  hip  pocket  a  piece  of  tobacco. 
He  bit  off  a  generous  chew  after  Brown  had  declined  to  try 
what  was  recommended  as  the  best  plug  on  the  market. 

"  Have  you  spent  all  you  borrowed  last  time?  "  Brown 
swung  himself  round  in  his  revolving  chair  and  cast  a  con- 
temptuous look  upon  his  visitor. 

"  A  man  with  twelve  chilluns  has  to  spend  money,"  Gee- 
Haw  made  this  statement  in  a  whining  voice.  "  It  do  seem 


150  THE    MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

as  if  luck  was  agin  me,"  he  proceeded.  "  My  biggest  boy 
broke  our  new  plough;  the  red  calf  died  last  week;  an'  the 
cotton  ain't  doin'  well  nohow." 

"  Then  how  can  you  expect  me  to  let  you  have  another 
dollar  ?  "  The  banker  swung  himself  back  to  his  desk. 

"  I  kin  expect  it  'cause  I'll  be  the  best-fixed  squaw  man 
in  the  Territory  after  the  allotment."  Gee-Haw  put  a 
grimy  hand  upon  the  arm  of  the  banker's  chair  and  threw 
back  his  thin  shoulders  so  that  the  part  of  his  red  suspender 
that  remained  in  service  was  made  taut. 

"  You've  had  about  all  you  can  get  from  me,"  declared 
Brown. 

"  What's  eight  hundad  dollars  on  a  claim  agin  thousands 
of  acahs  of  Ian'  ?  "  This  question  was  put  with  a  twang 
of  disdain. 

"  You're  not  going  to  get  as  much  land  as  you  think." 

"  Oh,  ain't  I !  "  Blikens  winked  one  watery  eye. 

"  No,  you're  not.  The  Chickasaws  may  not  have  more 
than  five  hundred  acres  apiece." 

"  Twelve  times  five  hundad,  jes'  foh  the  young  uns, 
ain't  bad,"  averred  Gee-Haw. 

"  You  can't  talk  to  me  to-day,"  said  the  banker,  in  a  tone 
of  dismissal. 

"  I  knowed  you'd  be  mad  'cause  Jimmy  was  drownded 
an'  I'll  have  to  lose  one  allotment."  Gee-Haw  wiped  his 
face  upon  his  shirt  sleeve.  "  Jimmy  allus  was  a  cahless  boy. 
His  ma  and  me  couldn't  make  him  undahstand  that  he  might 
be  wuth  about  eight  hundad  acahs  o'  Ian'.  He  wouldn't 
pay  no  attention.  He  had  some  o'  the  blamedest  escapes  you 
evah  see.  It  did  seem  jest  as  if  he  was  bent  on  losin'  me  his 
shah  o'  the  Ian'  allotment,  and  sho'  nuf  he  did." 

"  We  have  discussed  that  before,  Blikens,"  Brown  re- 
minded his  visitor.  "  The  boy's  dead  and  that's  all  there 
is  of  it." 

"  P'r'aps  'tis,"  assented  Gee-Haw,  "  but  that  don't  inta- 


BLIKENS    MAKES   A   BARGAIN  151 

feah  with  my  gettin'  you  to  put  up  a  few  dollahs  on  the  new 
young  un." 

"  Have  you  another  baby  at  your  house?  " 

"  No,  not  'zactly,  but  we'ah  lookin'  fo'  one  soon,  an'  so 
I've  come  to  ask  you  fo'  a  hundad  dollahs." 

Brown,  who  ordinarily  did  not  have  a  highly  developed 
sense  of  humour,  looked  serious  for  a  few  moments.  He 
took  up  his  pen  and  began  to  write  an  agreement.  Then 
the  unusual  character  of  the  transaction  became  apparent 
to  him. 

"  How  am  I  going  to  make  out  a  claim?  "  he  inquired. 
"  What  name  can  I  use?  " 

Blikens  scratched  his  head,  reflectively.  In  a  moment  his 
face  lighted  with  a  toothless  smile: 

"  We'll  call  him  Billy  Brown  Blikens,"  he  said.  "  I'll 
name  him  aftah  you." 

The  banker  flinched  at  this  rather  dubious  honour.  He 
thought  for  a  moment. 

"  Suppose  Billy  Brown  Blikens  shouldn't  happen  to  be 
the  right  name?  "  he  suggested. 

"  Couldn't  we  change  the  name  to  Tilly  Brown  then  ?  " 
Blikens  looked  cast  down  as  he  made  this  inquiry. 

"  Of  course  not,"  Brown  answered.  "  I  don't  know  as  the 
claim  would  be  valid  anyway.  I  think  I'd  better  not  make 
the  loan!" 

"  Wall,  s'pose  I  say  we'll  call  huh  Billy  even  if  the  name 
don't  suit,"  said  Blikens,  "  and  we  can  fix  the  date  all  right. 
I'd  jest  have  to  swah  to  it,  and  I  can  swah  to  'most  anything." 

"  I'll  let  you  have  the  money  on  condition  you  keep  me 
informed  on  what  the  Indians  are  doing,"  Brown  promised. 
"  Report  to  me  whatever  happens,  no  matter  whether  the 
news  you  bring  seems  important  or  not.  I've  told  you  to 
keep  your  eyes  and  ears  open  so  that  you  will  know  if  anyone 
finds  those  lost  papers." 

"  Them  papahs  must  be  mighty  valyble,"  commented  Gee- 


152  THE   MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

Haw  with  a  shrewd  expression  on  his  face.  "  I'm  tolahbly 
sahtain  you'll  heah  from  'em  some  time." 

"  Well,  can  I  depend  upon  you  to  act  as  a  sort  of  detective 
among  the  Indians?  "  Brown  asked,  impatiently. 

"  You  kin  count  on  me,  but  I  can't  promise  to  be  much 
he'p."  Gee-Haw  spoke  writh  some  reluctance  as  he  rose  to 
go.  "  Bein'  a  galvanised  citizen  I  ain't  trusted  as  much  as 
I  might  be.  Them  Indians  is  mighty  shy  of  a  squaw  man." 

As  Blikens  drove  homeward  that  day  he  pondered  over 
his  financial  affairs,  which  were  always  in  a  tangle.  He  was 
too  lazy  and  too  shiftless  to  conduct  his  farming  according 
to  any  practical  system.  He  had  purchased  various  pieces 
of  machinery  to  aid  him  in  the  cultivation  of  the  fertile 
acres  that  he  held  tentatively,  but  as,  for  several  years  he  had 
been  "  layin'  out  "  to  build  a  barn,  and  had  never  gotten 
around  to  it,  the  heavy  rainstorms  of  the  spring  had  rendered 
his  investments  practically  useless. 

Mrs.  Blikens  was  not  what  would  be  called  a  good  man- 
ager. Her  mother  had  been  a  poor  white  from  South  Caro- 
lina and  her  father  a  Chickasaw.  But,  even  if  she  had  been 
versed  in  all  the  arts  of  domestic  science,  the  care  of  her 
rapidly  increasing  family  would  have  made  it  difficult  for  her 
to  devote  time  to  dairy  work  or  poultry  raising,  both  of 
which  assured  a  small  income  for  the  wives  of  the  farmers. 
Ever  since  Gee-Haw,  who  never  took  any  thought  for  the 
morrow,  had  been  able  to  borrow  money  from  Brown,  the 
members  of  the  Blikens  family  had  enjoyed  a  period  of  such 
unusual  opulence  that  the  suspicions  of  their  neighbours  had 
been  aroused.  It  was  suspected  that  some  way  had  been 
found  to  turn  the  anticipations  connected  with  the  apportion- 
ment into  cash. 

Brown  had  not  been  generous  in  his  dealings  with  Gee- 
Haw.  As  he  thought  over  his  transactions  with  the  banker, 
the  squaw  man,  who  sat  humped  up  on  the  seat  of  his  rickety 
wagon,  spat  reflectively  over  the  rattling  front  wheel  and 


BLIKENS    MAKES   A    BARGAIN  153 

Slapped  one  line,  which  was  spliced  with  a  bit  of  rope, 
against  the  back  of  the  nigh  horse.  The  rough-coated  buck- 
skin team  broke  into  a  trot  that  jarred  all  Gee-Haw's  serious 
thoughts  out  of  his  head.  For  half  a  mile  he  travelled  toward 
his  ranch,  the  money  in  the  pocket  of  his  worn  trousers  giv- 
ing him  a  sense  of  such  comfortable  satisfaction  that  he  felt 
it  not  worth  while  to  wonder  what  he  should  do  when  the 
last  cent  had  been  used. 

A  turn  in  the  road  brought  Gee-Haw  and  his  team  to  a 
log  bridge  over  a  shrunken  creek.  At  the  right  were  well- 
worn  ruts  which  showed  where  horsemen  and  teamsters 
stopped  to  water,  their  tired  animals.  Gee-Haw's  natural 
inclination  to  do  everything  the  wrong  way  caused  him  to 
turn  to  the  left  instead  of  the  right,  thus  compelling  the 
buckskin  team  to  drag  the  wagon  over  some  big  stones  and 
several  obstructing  masses  of  driftwood.  In  the  last  pile  of 
driftwood  the  wagon  wheels  sunk  so  unevenly  that  Gee- 
Haw  was  compelled  to  get  down  from  his  high  seat  in  order 
to  avoid  being"  upset.  Addressing  his  horses  with  a  string 
of  oaths  he  led  them  to  the  water's  edge,  and  while  they 
drank  waited  with  the  patience  that  distinguishes  a  lazy 
man. 

In  the  places  where  the  wheels  had  broken  through  the 
driftwood  Gee-Haw  noticed  some  pieces  of  clothing.  With 
the  end  of  his  blacksnake  whip  he  pulled  out  an  old  coat.  The 
garment  was  much  better  than  the  only  one  the  squaw  man 
possessed  and  he  examined  it  with  interest.  A  large  leather 
letter  case  in  one  of  the  pockets  attracted  his  attention. 
Naturally  his  first  thought  was  that  he  might  have  found 
some  money,  but  in  this  hope  he  was  disappointed,  for  he 
discovered  several  folded  sheets  of  legal  cap  paper  covered 
with  typewriting.  Gee-Haw  prided  himself  upon  the  fact 
that  he  had  never  needed  an  education.  Reading  was  a 
difficult  task  to  him  and  he  put  the  letter  case  into  his  hip 
pocket,  without  gaining  any  idea  of  the  contents  of  the 


154  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY, 

papers.  He  threw  the  coat  into  the  wagon  because  he  knew 
it  would  be  useful  when  made  over  for  some  of  his  numerous 
progeny.  It  was  not  until  he  had  jogged  along  five  of  the 
remaining  seven  miles  to  his  ranch  that  it  occurred  to  him 
that  he  might  have  found  the  lost  documents  about  which 
Brown  was  so  much  concerned.  The  idea  that  he  might  be 
able  to  convert  what  he  had  found  into  money  made  him 
feel  extravagant,  therefore  he  drank  half  the  bottle  of  bit- 
ters he  had  bought,  and  when  he  reached  home  he  was  in 
a  cheerful  state  of  mind. 

Gee-Haw's  exhilaration  lasted  but  a  short  time,  because 
at  the  door  of  the  tumble-down  shack,  which  he  called  home, 
Mrs.  Blikens  met  him  with  the  news  that  two  of  the  children 
had  slow  fever  while  one  of  them  was  suffering  from  a 
"  rising "  in  her  neck.  Illness  was  not  common  in  the 
Blikens  family  and  the  thought  flashed  through  Gee-Haw's 
mind  that  it  was  possible  for  death  to  rob  him  of  several 
more  allotments  of  land.  He  hung  the  coat  he  had  found 
upon  a  nail  outside  the  house  and  kept  the  letter  case  in  his 
pocket.  Although  he  went  to  Wauchula  the  next  day  to 
summon  a  physician,  he  did  not  tell  Brown  about  the  papers. 

Gee-Haw  was  mercenary  but,  at  the  same  time,  he  had  a 
rudimentary  affection  for  his  offspring.  When  it  became 
apparent  that  two  of  the  children  were  dangerously  ill,  and 
when  the  disease,  which  was  diagnosed  as  diphtheria,  spread 
to  five  of  the  little  ones,  he  was  really  distressed.  Within 
a  week  four  of  his  children  died  and  Gee-Haw  had  to  use 
the  one  hundred  dollars  he  had  borrowed  from  Brown  in 
part  payment  of  the  funeral  expenses. 

The  week  after  the  Blikens  children  died  Gee-Haw  was 
working  in  a  cotton  field  that  gave  little  promise  of  a  good 
crop,  when  a  horseman  and  a  horsewoman  called  to  him 
from  the  road.  With  his  usual  deliberation  the  squaw  man 
walked  leisurely  to  the  place  where  Hattakowa  and  Pakali 
waited  for  him. 


BLIKENS    MAKES   A    BARGAIN.          155 

"  We  rode  out  to  ask  about  your  children,"  said  Pakali. 
"  I  could  not  go  to  your  house  for  fear  of  carrying  the  disease 
to  my  little  son,  but  I  am  sure  that  you  will  let  us  help  you 
if  we  can." 

"  Nobody  kin  do  nothin'  much  foh  us  now,  I  reckon," 
answered  Gee-Haw,  as  he  chewed  a  blade  of  grass. 

"  There's  a  job  on  my  ranch  that  will  pay  you  well  if 
you  can  leave  your  own  place."  Hattakowa  volunteered 
assistance  in  a  tone  of  such  frank  sympathy  that  the  squaw 
man,  who  had  always  felt  the  Indian's  antipathy,  could  not 
conceal  his  surprise. 

'  'Peahs  to  me  my  troubles  make  you  fuhgit  I  am  one  o' 
them  pussons  you  Indians  don't  like,"  he  remarked. 

"  I  remember  that  your  wife  is  a  Chickasaw,"  Hattakowa 
replied,  with  some  severity.  "  It  occurred  to  me  that  you 
might  need  ready  money  and  I  was  not  on  terms  friendly 
enough  to  permit  of  an  offer  to  lend  you  what  you  want." 

Gee-Haw  threw  away  what  was  left  of  the  blade  of  grass 
and,  after  taking  time  to  weigh  his  chances  of  making  capital 
out  of  his  recent  bereavement,  he  remarked: 

"  I  can't  say  as  I'm  too  proud  to  borrah  money  when  I 
need  it.  Fact  is,  I'd  ruthah  borrah  it  than  wo'k  foh  it.  I'm 
pahtic'lahly  glad  when  I  kin  git  it  from  an  enemy  'cause  then 
I  don't  have  no  regrets  when  I  can't  pay  it  back."  The 
squaw  Hnan  put  both  hands  into  his  ragged  pockets  and 
laughed  as  if  he  had  made  a  delicate  jest. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  lend  you  some  money,"  said  Hatta- 
kowa, who  knew  that  he  would  profit  nothing  from  Gee- 
Haw's  labours  upon  his  ranch. 

"  And  I  want  to  send  a  negro  woman  out  to  help  Mrs. 
Blikens,"  said  Pakali,  turning  her  horse's  head  toward  home 
in  order  that  she  might  not  see  the  financial  transaction  be- 
tween Hattakowa  and  Gee-Haw. 

A  few  minutes  later,  as  Gee-Haw's  visitors  were  starting 
back  to  Wauchula,  the  squaw  man,  who  had  tied  the  money 


156  THE   MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

he  had  received  into  the  corner  of  a  red  bandana  handker- 
chief, bethought  himself  of  the  letter  case  which  he  still 
carried  in  the  hip  pocket  of  his  only  pair  of  trousers. 

"  Mistah  Dixon,  I  found  some  papahs  the  othah  day  I'd 
like  to  show  yo'  if  you've  got  time  to  look  at  'em,"  he  an- 
nounced in  an  unconcerned  way.  "  I'm  not  much  of  a 
scholah  and  it's  easiah  fo'  me  to  have  you  tell  me  what  they 
ah."  He  handed  the  leather  case  to  Hattakowa,  who  glanced 
over  the  papers  and  instantly  saw  that  they  were  of  more  than 
passing  interest. 

"  Will  you  let  me  take  these  papers  with  me  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  I  want  to  examine  them  carefully,  and  I  will  return  them 
to  you  to-morrow." 

A  shrewd  expression  came  into  Gee-Haw's  eyes  as  he 
replied : 

"  Them  papahs  might  be  the  ve'y  ones  that  Billy  Brown, 
the  bankah,  wants  to  find.  They  ah  wuth  money  to  me,  and 
I  ain't  goin'  to  let  'em  out  o'  my  sight." 

"  They  may  be  worth  money  to  me,"  returned  Hattakowa 
with  a  careless  laugh  that  concealed  his  eagerness  to  retain 
possession  of  the  documents.  "  I'll  give  you  twenty-five  dol- 
lars if  you  will  lend  them  to  me  over  night." 

"  Wall,  that's  a  bahgain  if  the  lady  will  add  heh  promise 
to  youall's  that  them  papahs  come  back  to-morrow."  Gee- 
Haw  gave  his  consent  with  an  assumption  of  importance  that 
brought  a  smile  to  Pakali's  lips,  but  she  readily  agreed  to 
see  that  the  leather  envelope  was  sent  back  to  the  Blikens 
ranch. 

"  Do  you  think  it's  exactly  right  for  you  to  read  those 
papers  if  they  are  Mr.  Brown's?  "  Pakali  inquired  as  she  and 
Hattakowa  were  on  their  way  home. 

"  All  is  fair  in  war,  and  I  intend  to  have  these  papers 
copied  after  I  have  shown  them  to  your  father  and  Governor 
Sands,"  Hattakowa  answered.  "  They  contain  absolute 
proof  that  Brown  is  interested  in  a  syndicate  that  has  planned 


BLIKENS    MAKES   A   BARGAIN  157 

to  get  possession  of  a  large  part  of  the  Chickasaw  and  Choc- 
taw  lands.  I  was  sure  he  wras  helping  to  bring  in  the  car- 
loads of  claimants  from  Kansas,  but  now  he  has  even  a  more 
ambitious  land-grabbing  scheme  than  the  one  we  have  been 
watching  and  fighting  since  the  Curtis  bill  became  a  law." 

Hattakowa  set  his  lips  firmly,  and  a  look  of  stern  determi- 
nation came  into  his  strong  face.  "  From  this  day  on  I  mean 
to  play  a  part  in  Chickasaw  politics." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  make  such  a  declaration,"  Pakali 
answered.  "  Father  says  you  have  been  too  passive  and  we 
have  both  wondered  that  you,  who  feel  so  intensely  the 
wrongs  of  our  Nation,  should  take  so  little  part  in  the  battle 
for  our  rights." 

"  Perhaps  my  negligence  has  been  due  to  my  Indian  fatal- 
ism," suggested  Hattakowa. 

For  a  mile  or  two  they  rode  on  in  silence.  The  clear 
morning  brought  to  them  a  sense  of  exhilaration,  for  it  was 
yet  too  early  for  the  heat  to  be  oppressive.  Overhead  the  sky 
had  the  transparent  blue  that  gives  a  luminous  quality  to  all 
that  pertains  to  the  earth.  There  was  light  in  the  shining 
leaves  of  the  trees.  The  white  of  the  earliest  of  the  bursting 
cotton  bolls  shone  as  if  the  nodding  stalks  held  tiny  lamps. 
Pakali  rode  Ossilusa,  the  horse  that  Hattakowa  had  given 
her  on  her  wedding  day.  At  Moma  Binna  this  animal  had 
been  her  daily  companion  and  at  Hattakowa's  suggestion  she 
had  recently  had  him  brought  to  Wauchula,  Ossilusa  was 
as  sensitive  to  the  influence  of  nature  as  Pakali  herself,  and 
now,  when  a  cooling  breeze  that  had  travelled  all  the  way 
from  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  swept  over  the  green  fields  and 
moved  the  tops  of  the  high  trees,  the  horse,  feeling  the  mane 
stirred  upon  his  neck,  arched  his  handsome  head  and  broke 
into  a  brisk  canter.  At  a  narrow  ford,  where  the  creek  was 
almost  dry,  the  two  riders  stopped. 

"  When  I  come  away  from  people,  I  am  at  ease  with  the 
world,"  Hattakowa  said.  "  The  earth  takes  away  from  me 


158  THE    MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

all  the  fret  and  the  fever  that  I  feel  when  I  go  among  men 
and  women." 

"  I  am  happiest  when  out  of  doors,"  answered  Pakali, 
"  but  because  I  am  not  so  much  of  an  Indian  as  you  I  often 
long  for  companionship." 

"  The  spirit  of  the  forest  does  not  satisfy  all  my  needs  of 
companionship."  Hattakowa  spoke  slowly  as  he  leaned  over 
his  horse's  head  to  adjust  the  bridle,  "  but  I  would  have  just 
one  person  in  all  the  world  for  my  comrade — and  more  than 
comrade.  There  is  no  man  so  strong  that  he  can  always  stifle 
in  his  heart  the  call  for  his  Star  Woman." 

Pakali  looked  away  toward  the  horizon  line.  Presently 
she  made  answer: 

"  I  know.  Even  though  I  have  Miko  I  find  the  way 
lonely.  I  came  to  Wauchula  with  the  hope  that  I  might 
forget  that  love  has  touched  me  and  passed  me  by." 

"  The  great  love  has  not  passed  you  by,  Pakali.  Through 
life  and  death  it  will  be  with  you." 

Hattakowa  spoke  as  one  who  baldly  states  a  truth.  There, 
in  the  morning  light,  the  world  was  revealed  to  them  as  a 
reality.  Because  both  the  man  and  the  woman  lived  much 
in  the  dream  world  they  spoke  of  the  sacred  things  naturally. 
Looking  into  each  other'?' eyes  for  a  moment  they  read  the 
truth  as  they  must  read  it  in  each  other's  soul.  Both  knew 
that  as  they  travelled  on  through  the  years  their  meetings 
must  be  always  at  the  partings  of  the  ways. 

Slowly  Ossilusa  crossed  the  ford.  He  walked  through  a 
strip  of  timber  land,  letting  Hattakowa's  mount  speed  far 
ahead  of  him. 


CHAPTER   XIX 
THE   CANDIDATE   FOR   GOVERNOR 

HATTAKOWA  took  the  papers  Gee-Haw  Blikens  had  found 
to  Judge  Maury,  whose  legal  opinion  was  desirable  in  view 
of  the  character  of  the  documents  which  pertained  to  a  syndi- 
cate for  the  wholesale  importation  of  Mississippi  Chickasaws 
and  Choctaws.  When  the  Chickasaws  had  been  transferred 
to  Indian  Territory  a  comparatively  small  number  of  the 
Nation  remained  in  the  State.  Contact  with  illiterate  whites 
and  environment  that  was  conducive  to  retrogression  had  left 
this  remnant  of  the  tribe  in  a  pitiable  condition  of  poverty 
and  ignorance. 

According  to  the  terms  of  the  agreement  entered  into  by 
the  men  interested  in  the  syndicate,  parties  of  from  fifty  to 
two  hundred  Mississippi  Chickasaws  and  Choctaws  were  to 
be  brought  into  the  Territory  from  time  to  time  and  regis- 
tered upon  the  citizenship  rolls.  In  consideration  of  the  sum 
of  one  hundred  dollars  a  year  and  a  meagre  equipment  of 
farm  implements,  each  family  was  to  turn  over  to  the  syndi- 
cate half  the  land  allotted  to  it.  Provisions  were  made  for 
the  future  purchase  of  the  remaining  homestead  at  prices 
that  were  merely  nominal.  The  syndicate  represented  a 
capital  of  fifty  thousand  dollars.  Elisha  Fordham,  the  for- 
mer congressman,  was  at  th?  head  of  it,  and  Billy  Brown's 
name  appeared  in  the  list  of  directors.  It  was  evident  that 
the  man  who  was  killed  in  the  cyclone  had  been  merely  an 
agent.  • 

By  a  piece  of  good  luck  Beaumont  and  Sands  happened  to 
be  in  Wauchula  so  that  Hattakowa  was  able  to  take  them 
with  him  to  Judge  Maury's  office,  where  the  final  examina- 
tion of  the  papers  was  made. 

159 


i6o 

"  Can't  something  be  done  to  stop  this  double  robbery?" 
asked  Sands,  as  he  leaned  back  in  one  of  the  dilapidated  arm- 
chairs in  the  lawyer's  office.  "  This  scheme  enables  the  tribe 
of  landgrabbers  to  reduce  the  per  capita  allotment  among  the 
the  Chickasaws  of  the  Territory,  while  it  takes  from  the 
poor  Mississipoi  Indians  whatever  property  they  may  be  able 
to  secure." 

Judge  Maury  paced  up  and  down  the  strip  of  frayed 
oil  cloth  extending  across  his  office  floor.  Now  and  then  he 
pulled  his  goatee  reflectively.  The  trousers  of  his  worn 
broadcloth  suit  were  supplemented  by  a  pair  of  light  grey 
gaiters  that  somehow  fixed  the  attention  of  the  three  Indians 
who  waited  anxiously  for  the  Judge's  advice. 

"  Attorney  See-My-Fee,  about  whom  Governor  Sands  so 
often  talks,  has  been  shrewd  enough  to  protect  the  syndicate," 
Judge  Maury  said.  "  If  the  United  States  Government 
chooses  to  recognise  these  Mississippi  Chickasaws  and  Choc- 
taws  we  can  do  nothing." 

"  Such  injustice  stirs  all  my  savage  instincts!  "  exclaimed 
Hattakowa.  "  According  to  our  tribal  laws  the  Indians 
who  would  not  come  to  the  new  country  have  no  right  to 
inherit  the  land  that  has  been  ours  for  half  a  century." 

"  That  is  true,  that  is  true,"  assented  Judge  Maury,  em- 
phasising his  words  with  a  tap  of  one  of  his  gaitered  feet. 
"  In  this  case  you  must  rely  upon  unity  of  purpose  among  the 
Chickasaws  who  belong  to  the  Territory.  You  can  make 
your  protest  heard  in  Washington,  and  for  future  use  I  ad- 
vise you  not  to  neglect  having  copies  of  these  papers  made." 

"  It  is  impossible  to  count  upon  united  action  by  the  peo- 
ple of  the  Chickasaw  Nation,"  Sands  declared,  shaking  his 
head.  "  Factional  differences  are  being  multiplied  daily. 
The  so-called  Progressive  party  is  growing  so  that  it  is  likely 
to  carry  our  next  election." 

"  If  you  will  run  for  office  again  we  will  beat  the  Cole 
Mattison  crowd,"  Beaumont  prophesied. 


THE    CANDIDATE    FOR    GOVERNOR     161 

But  Sands'  rugged  face  took  on  a  look  of  determination 
as  he  answered: 

"  I  am  not  the  man  to  win.  I  have  made  too  many  enemies 
in  the  past  and  I  am  too  old  to  control  the  younger  element." 
He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  he  said :  "  I  have  thought 
that  Hattakowa  is  the  man  to  lead  our  party." 

There  was  a  look  of  astonishment  on  Hattakowa's  face 
as  he  answered  in  a  nettled  tone: 

"  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun  is  not  the  man  hunting 
for  office.  Governor,  this  is  hardly  a  time  for  you  to  jest." 

"  I  am  quite  serious,"  replied  Sands.  "  You  have  friends 
in  all  classes  of  the  Indians.  Chickasaws  of  every  degree 
and  mixedbloods  would  vote  for  you.  If  you  are  really  sin- 
cere in  all  your  boasted  loyalty  to  the  old  order  of  things  you 
can  show  it  by  using  your  time,  and — I  regret  to  admit  that 
it  is  necessary — money  in  the  coming  campaign." 

Beaumont,  who  had  been  listening  with  much  interest, 
commented : 

"  It  does  not  seem  possible  that  Hattakowa  is  old  enough 
to  run  for  governor,  but  now  that  I  count  the  years  I  know 
he  has  lived  through  thirty." 

"  There  isn't  any  reason  why  Mr.  Dixon  should  not  de- 
vote himself  to  politics,"  commented  Judge  Maury.  "  You 
cannot  prevent  your  people  from  suffering  terrible  wrongs, 
but  you  can  help  to  diminish  those  wrongs,  and  you  can  retard 
the  speed  with  which  the  Progressive  party  achieves  its  ends." 

Hattakowa  walked  to  the  window  where  he  stood  looking 
out  upon  the  little  town. 

"  I  had  meant  to  work  with  all  my  strength  for  the  candi- 
date of  our  party,"  he  said.  "  Never  for  one  moment  have 
I  been  so  presumptuous  as  to  think  of  myself  as  the  leader." 

"  Well,  begin  to  think  now,"  admonished  Sands.  "  The 
Nation  needs  the  help  of  the  young  men  who  have  been 
educated  so  that  they  are  able  to  defend  their  people  from  the 
white  man." 


1 62  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

Before  the  consultation  with  Judge  Maury  was  ended  the 
delicate  question  whether  it  would  be  best  to  notify  Brown 
that  his  papers  had  been  read  was  discussed  at  length,  and 
it  was  finally  decided  to  return  the  documents  to  Gee-Haw 
Blikens  without  making  any  comment  upon  them.  Thus 
the  matter  would  be  left  altogether  to  the  squaw  man,  who 
could  do  as  he  saw  fit  about  informing  Brown  that  the  In- 
dians were  aware  of  the  syndicate  scheme. 

"  Since  I  am  a  fatalist  I  am  sure  it  is  best  not  to  interfere 
with  what  chance  will  do,"  Hattakowa  remarked  with  a 
smile.  "If  Brown  finds  out  that  I  have  had  his  lost  docu- 
ments, I  shall  have  a  chance  to  declare  that  I  shall  work 
against  him;  if  not,  our  secret  knowledge  may  avail  much 
at  some  future  time." 

Within  a  few  days  Hattakowa  had  been  persuaded  to  be 
a  candidate  for  the  office  of  governor  and  there  followed 
weeks  of  unremitting  work  for  Beaumont  and  Sands  as  well 
as  for  the  younger  Indians.  Meanwhile  Pakali  still  remained 
at  the  white  cottage,  inasmuch  as  Moma  Binna  was  turned 
into  political  headquarters  for  Hattakowa's  supporters.  John 
Oaktree  undertook  to  canvass  part  of  Pontotoc  County  where 
Samuel  Jenkins,  the  fullblood  who  had  been  chosen  as  the 
tool  of  the  Progressive  party,  was  strongest.  As  an  oppo- 
nent to  Hattakowa,  Jenkins  was  weak,  inasmuch  as  he  had 
but  a  small  personal  following.  With  the  two  Mattisons  and 
Billy  Brown  to  manage  his  campaign  for  him,  however,  he 
developed  possibilities  that  made  his  victory  not  improbable. 
The  Wauchula  Wampum,  which,  despite  its  name,  was  anti- 
Indian  on  every  subject,  became  bitter  in  its  abuse  of  Hatta- 
kowa, whom  it  termed  the  young  Croesus  of  the  Chickasaws. 

Wauchula  and  Ardmore  were  so  distinctly  white  men's 
cities  that  the  Indian  elections  had  but  slight  interest  for 
any  residents  excepting  those  who  were  identified  with  en- 
terprises depending  upon  the  speedy  disintegration  of  the 
tribal  government. 


THE    CANDIDATE    FOR    GOVERNOR     163 

In  the  midst  of  the  campaign  Philip  Marchand  passed  three 
days  that  were  not  without  their  disappointment.  It  was  the 
young  man's  desire  to  devote  most  of  his  time  to  Pakali. 
He  did  not  stop  to  analyse  her  charm  for  him,  or  to  con- 
sider that  she  was  married.  She  was  to  him  a  beautiful 
woman  who  piqued  his  interest,  and  who  satisfied  his  craving 
for  companionship.  In  Muscogee  he  had  met  many  pretty 
girls,  but  he  was  not  a  squire  of  dames  and  he  found  so- 
ciety in  the  capital  of  the  Creek  Nation  tiresome.  Pakali 
was  to  him  the  ideal  of  the  civilised  Indian  woman.  Her 
personality,  elusive,  baffling,  appealed  to  the  poetic  side  of  his 
nature.  As  he  travelled  to  Wauchula  he  had  planned  whole 
hours  alone  with  her,  but  after  his  arrival  he  discovered  that 
he  would  be  compelled  to  share  Pakali's  society  with  several 
other  persons. 

The  Territory  had  too  much  of  the  frontier  spirit  to  admit 
of  any  freedom  for  married  persons  who  represented  the  best 
social  life,  and  Pakali  took  care  that  she  should  not  be  alone 
with  Marchand.  The  evening  of  his  arrival  Mrs.  Dixon 
invited  him  to  supper,  but  callers  prevented  him  from  monop- 
olising Pakali.  The  next  two  days  brought  many  baffling, 
tantalising  situations  to  him,  but  they  served  to  make  him 
feel  more  than  previously  the  delight  of  association  with  the 
Chickasaw  woman. 

When  he  was  going  away  from  Wauchula  he  asked  Pakali 
if  he  might  travel  to  Tishomingo  to  see  her,  and  she  an- 
swered : 

"  Come  as  my  father's  guest.  Moma  Binna  is  a  lodge 
for  all." 


CHAPTER   XX 

MARCHAND    MAKES   A   VISIT 

HATTAKOWA'S  campaign  for  the  office  of  governor  of  the 
Chickasaw  Nation  proved  to  be  the  most  exciting  in  the 
history  of  the  Territory.  John  Oaktree  and  his  sons  worked 
in  the  county  of  Pontotoc;  Beaumont  confined  his  efforts 
to  Tishomingo  County;  while  Sands  canvassed  Panola  and 
Pickens.  It  was  the  custom  to  elect  immediately  after  a 
nomination,  therefore  Hattakowa  had  to  depend  upon  his 
chances  of  winning  general  approval  from  the  electors.  He 
had  always  been  a  favourite,  especially  among  the  younger 
Indians,  and,  as  boys  of  nineteen  were  qualified  to  exercise 
the  right  of  suffrage,  he  had  an  enthusiastic  following  where- 
ever  there  were  youthful  voters. 

The  Progressive  party,  which  had  chosen  Samuel  Jenkins 
as  its  candidate,  made  use  of  the  white  man's  methods,  and 
a  large  amount  of  money  was  distributed  among  ignorant 
fullbloods  who  would  naturally  cling  to  the  old  order  of 
things.  As  one  of  the  army  of  white  men  who  dwelt  as 
tenants  in  the  Territory,  Billy  Brown  had  no  right  to  inter- 
fere in  the  Indian  election,  but  it  was  evident  that  he  was 
aiding  Gee-Haw  Blikens  and  the  squaw  men  in  their  efforts 
to  insure  victory  for  Jenkins.  The  two  Mattisons  became 
bitter  opponents  of  Hattakowa  and  there  was  an  open  rupture 
between  them  and  Ogden  Maury. 

On  the  day  of  the  election  Pakali  waited  for  the  returns 
with  much  anxiety.  The  early  autumn  had  come  and  Moma 
Binna  was  enveloped  in  a  golden  haze.  From  the  veranda 
Pakali  frequently  gazed  toward  the  capitol,  where  the  Judge 
and  his  clerks  were  recording  the  votes  of  Tishomingo 

164 


MARCHAND    MAKES    A    VISIT  165 

County.  Since  long  before  daylight  her  father  had  been 
driving  among  the  ranches  outside  the  town  and  a  number 
of  wagons  had  been  sent  out  to  bring  in  lazy  and  infirm 
voters.  After  Pakali  had  seen  to  the  preparations  for  many 
chance  dinner  guests,  she  found  the  hours  long  and  tedious. 
She  could  not  read  or  settle  herself  to  any  of  her  usual  tasks. 
She  was,  therefore,  glad  to  see  a  horseman  coming  up  the 
road,  and,  when  he  was  near  enough  to  be  recognised,  she 
smiled  a  cordial  welcome  to  Philip  Marchand.  The  young 
man  had  made  excuses  to  write  her  occasional  notes  by  send- 
ing to  Moma  Binna  souvenirs  that  he  picked  up  in  various 
trips  among  the  Creeks  and  mixedbloods  who  still  lived  in 
savage  freedom  far  from  Muscogee  and  the  other  towns. 

"  It  does  not  seem  possible  that  I  am  at  last  in  Tisho- 
mingo!  "  exclaimed  Marchand,  as  he  jumped  from  the  sad- 
dle. He  held  Pakali's  hand  several  seconds  longer  than  was 
necessary.  "  So  many  weeks  have  gone  by  since  I  saw  you 
in  Wauchula  that  I  was  almost  afraid  you  had  forgotten 
me." 

Pakali  laughingly  assured  him  that  she  must  always  re- 
member a  cyclone  companion,  and,  sending  his  horse  to  the 
stables,  she  conducted  him  to  the  veranda. 

Although  the  frost  time  had  not  yet  come,  some  of  the 
leaves  of  the  woodbine  that  wound  about  one  of  the  veranda 
pillars  had  begun  to  change  colour,  and  a  creeping  rose 
flaunted  crimson  blossoms  above  the  porch  railing.  When 
Pakali  had  seated  herself  in  a  basket  chair  the  young  man 
saw  that  the  background  of  flowers  and  shrubbery  brought 
out  the  peculiar  beauty  of  the  Indian  woman.  Looking  be- 
yond her  at  the  mountains,  he  said : 

"  Moma  Binna  is  even  more  picturesque  than  it  seemed  in 
my  dreams."  He  paused,  and,  with  something  like  a  blush 
on  his  handsome  face,  continued :  "  You  see  I  am  frank  to 
admit  that  I  dream  of  Moma  Binna,  which  is  only  another 
way  of  saying  that  I  have  thought  of  you  a  great  deal." 


166  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

"  So  you  have  been  wasting  your  time?  "  Pakali  answered, 
jestingly,  and,  with  a  piquant  assumption  of  superior  age, 
she  admonished:  "You  should  keep  your  mind  upon  the 
duties  the  Dawes  Commission  assigns  to  you." 

Quickly  responding  to  her  conversational  cue  Marchand 
pleaded : 

"  Be  lenient  in  judging  me,  O  Chickasaw  lady.  The 
Dawes  Comission  counts  its  clerks  by  the  hundreds  because 
politicians  at  Washington  have  debts  to  pay ;  so  there  is  little 
for  each  man  to  do.  But,  since  I  first  beheld  Tishomingo 
an  hour  ago,  I  have  made  a  resolution  to  work  hard  and  to 
demand  a  great  reward." 

Pakali  cast  a  questioning  glance  at  him. 

"  When  they  begin  to  apportion  the  Chickasaw  lands  I 
shall  ask  to  be  assigned  to  Tishomingo." 

"  You  will  be  tired  of  the  Territory  long  before  the  Chick- 
asaw allotment  is  reached,"  Pakali  predicted,  and  then  she 
rose  quickly,  for  Hattakowa  was  coming  toward  the  house. 
He  wore  his  riding  clothes  and  his  dress  showed  traces  of  long 
travel  on  dusty  roads. 

"How  is  the  election  going?"  Marchand  asked,  after 
Pakali  had  told  the  candidate  for  governor  that  he  looked 
tired,  and  that  he  must  have  some  coffee. 

"  They  say  that  I  shall  beat  Jenkins  if  there  is  not  too 
much  fraud  in  Pickens  and  Pontotoc  Counties.  You  know 
Indians  are  natural  politicians,"  Hattakowa  went  on. 

A  servant  placed  a  coffee  tray  upon  a  small  table.  Pakali 
poured  a  stimulating  draught,  and,  as  Hattakowa  reached  out 
his  hand  for  the  cup,  she  noticed  that  he  wore  the  ruby 
ring. 

"  Hattakowa,  I  have  not  seen  the  ruby  on  your  hand  for 
many  years!"  she  exclaimed.  "Why  do  you  wear  it  to- 
day?" 

He  looked  at  her  with  such  meaning  that  she  waited  ap- 
prehensively lest  he  might  speak  with  an  embarrassing  truth- 


MARCHAND    MAKES    A   VISIT  167 

fulness  that  would  reveal  to  Marchand  a  hint  of  her  kins- 
man's devotion  to  her. 

"  There  is  a  saying,  '  Unlucky  in  love,  lucky  in  war,'  ' 
said  Hattakovva.     "  I  put  on  the  ring  because  I  was  going 
into  combat." 

"  I  hope  it  will  be  a  true  talisman,"  answered  Pakali. 

Marchand  gazed  at  the  ring  for  a  moment,  and,  seeing  its 
rare  value,  remarked: 

"  A  man  might  be  almost  willing  to  challenge  fortune  in 
love  for  the  privilege  of  owning  such  a  gem  as  that." 

Hattakowa  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  whenever  I  would  have  far-off  cousin  kind  to 
me,  I  hide  the  ring,"  he  declared. 

Pakali  rose  hastily,  and,  in  her  nervousness,  upset  a  little 
cream  pitcher.  Marchand  proffered  assistance  in  righting 
the  tray,  but  Pakali  made  excuse  that  she  must  summon  a 
servant,  and  went  into  the  house. 

Marchand  covertly  studied  Hattakowa's  face  as  the  Indian 
lay  back  in  his  chair,  with  his  eyes  partly  closed,  and  in  the 
strong  lines  the  white  man  read  something  of  the  character 
which  was  dominated  by  primitive  emotions.  The  intense 
fire  that  flashed  from  the  eyes,  the  fulness  of  the  under  lip, 
and  the  modelling  of  the  chin,  had  long  before  told  Mar- 
chand that  Hattakowa  would  be  an  ardent  lover.  Now  he 
guessed  that  Pakali  must  be  the  object  of  the  Indian's  passion. 

Presently  Miko  came  out  of  the  house  with  Pakali.  Utter- 
ing a  cry  of  delight,  the  child  ran  to  Hattakowa. 

"  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun,  you  have  not  taken  me  fish- 
ing for  a  long  time,"  the  boy  said  reproachfully,  as  he 
climbed  upon  the  Indian's  knee. 

"  It  is  more  than  a  moon  since  our  last  expedition,"  Hatta- 
kowa replied,  dropping  into  the  Indian  imagery  that  he 
liked  to  use  with  Miko.  "  When  the  frost  comes  we  shall 
go  for  a  hunt." 

Miko  caught  sight  of  the  ruby. 


i68  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

"  Let  me  try  on  the  pretty,"  he  said,  coaxingly,  but  Hatta- 
kowa  drew  away  his  hand. 

"  The  ruby  might  bring  the  Little  Chieftain  bad  luck," 
he  explained. 

"  I  want  to  be  like  the  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun,"  Miko 
declared,  with  childish  petulance.  "  I  shall  not  fear  bad 
luck." 

But  Hattakowa  would  not  be  persuaded  to  let  Miko  touch 
the  ring. 

Pakali  had  dinner  for  Marchand,  Miko,  and  herself  served 
in  the  parlour,  while  Beaumont  and  Hattakowa  entertained 
Indians  of  all  classes  in  the  big  dining  room  and  the  living 
room.  The  intimacy  of  the  midday  meal,  which  gave  a 
whole  hour  alone  with  Pakali,  was  a  compensation  to 
Marchand  for  the  disappointment  of  his  days  in  Wauchula. 
After  the  Indians  had  gone  back  to  the  capitol,  Pakali, 
opening  the  grand  piano,  played  for  her  guest,  and,  later, 
from  the  veranda  they  watched  the  sun  go  down. 

Marchand,  who  still  retained  Eastern  ideas  of  conven- 
tionality, declined  an  invitation  to  the  evening  meal.  With 
much  reluctance  he  went  down  the  hill  to  the  old  Poyner 
Tavern,  which  was  still  the  principal  hostelry  in  Tishomingo. 
Here  he  found  many  Indians  quartered.  At  the  long,  nar- 
row table  in  the  dining  room  the  fullbloods  talked  in  their 
unintelligible  dialect.  Snatches  of  conversation  that  reached 
his  ears  from  the  end  of  the  table  where  several  brutal  looking 
halfbreeds  and  ugly-visaged  squaw  men  were  talking,  gave 
Marchand  the  information  that  there  would  be  a  determined 
effort  to  contest  Hattakowa's  election  if  the  count  were  close. 
Once  or  twice  a  big  halfbreed  cast  a  suspicious  glance  at  the 
stranger,  who  stayed  but  a  short  time  at  the  table,  where  an 
untidy  negro  put  before  him  dishes  that  he  could  not  even 
taste. 

The  Poyner  Tavern  was  a  long,  battened  frame  building, 
with  a  big  door  in  the  middle.  On  each  side  of  the  front 


MARCHAND   MAKES   A   VISIT  169 

door  were  narrow  glass  windows,  and  a  porch,  that  was  little 
more  than  a  shed,  protected  this  entrance  from  the  sun.  The 
dining  room  was  situated  on  one  side  of  the  house,  and  the 
office,  from  which  a  flight  of  rickety  stairs  ascended,  occupied 
the  remainder  of  the  first  floor  space.  Marchand  shuddered 
at  the  thought  of  what  the  bedrooms  might  be.  Lighting  a 
cigar  he  stood  upon  the  porch  for  a  few  moments  while  he 
looked  in  the  direction  of  Moma  Binna.  He  could  hardly 
resist  the  impulse  to  climb  the  distant  hill,  but  he  was  too 
wise  to  trespass  upon  the  hospitality  so  cordially  extended 
to  him.  He  sauntered  down  the  dusty  path  that  led  over 
the  barren  enclosure  which,  fenced  with  a  wire  netting,  and 
closed  with  a  gate  weighted  with  a  stone,  comprised  what 
was  imaginatively  termed  the  garden  of  the  inn.  He  walked 
up  and  down  in  front  of  the  tavern,  and  noticed  with  amuse- 
ment that  three  lightning  rods  bristled  from  its  warped 
shingle  roof.  Turning  the  corner,  he  came  to  the  wagon- 
yard,  without  which  no  Territory  hotel  was  complete.  Here 
were  many  vehicles.  In  the  centre  of  the  wagon-yard  sev- 
eral Indians  were  cooking  supper  over  a  blazing  camp-fire, 
while  others  slept  upon  the  ground  under  the  horse-sheds. 

Marchand  walked  far  out  on  the  hills.  Pakali  dominated 
his  thoughts,  although  he  reasoned  that  in  her  he  sought  a 
congenial  friend  during  his  period  of  exile  from  his  native 
State.  He  belonged  to  one  of  the  old  Kentucky  families 
whose  fortunes  had  been  reduced  by  the  Civil  War,  and  he 
had  been  glad  to  accept  a  salary  from  the  Federal  Govern- 
ment. Since  he  had  attained  manhood  his  father  had  seen 
that  he  had  little  business  ability,  but  that  he  was  one  of  the 
dreamers  who  found  the  world  a  pleasant  place.  He  was 
young  yet,  and,  therefore,  the  personality  of  a  woman  older 
than  he  in  experience,  if  not  in  years,  appealed  to  him.  The 
story  of  the  pathetic  romance  of  the  Chickasaw  girl,  as  it  had 
been  told  to  him,  aroused  his  chivalrous  impulse.  The  knowl- 
edge he  had  gained  of  Hattakowa's  love  for  his  kinswoman 


170  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

disturbed  him,  and  yet  it  touched  such  a  chord  of  sympathy 
that  he  felt  drawn  toward  the  Indian. 

It  was  late  when  Marchand  returned  to  the  tavern.  As 
he  passed  back  of  one  of  the  horse-sheds  he  heard  voices.  The 
name  of  Joe  Dixon  was  mentioned,  and  then  someone  said: 
"  If  we  can't  fix  Tishomingo  County  we  can  trust  to  Gee- 
Haw  Blikens  to  make  it  all  right  with  the  Pickens  vote." 

"  Gee-Haw  don't  know  enough  to  fix  anything,"  was  the 
reply. 

"  With  Brown's  help  he'll  put  Sam  Jenkins's  count  up 
where  young  Dixon  can't  touch  it." 

Marchand's  footsteps  silenced  the  voices.  It  was  evident 
to  the  chance  listener  that  Hattakowa's  predictions  concern- 
ing fraud  were  likely  to  be  carried  out.  After  a  moment's 
hesitation,  Marchand  decided  that  the  dialogue  was  not  worth 
reporting  until  the  next  day.  He  went  into  the  tavern,  where 
he  found  his  room  was  stifling,  after  his  walk  in  the  cool 
night  air.  He  tossed  for  hours  on  the  corn-husk  mattress 
and,  just  before  dawn,  dressed  in  the  light  of  a  smoky  hand 
lamp.  He  went  down  to  the  hotel  porch,  where  he  lounged 
upon  the  seat  built  in  at  one  side  of  the  doorway.  He  had 
fallen  asleep,  when  he  was  aroused  by  the  arrival  of  a  horse- 
man, a  negro,  who  hastily  dismounted  and  ran  toward  the 
tavern.  The  negro  took  from  his  torn  straw  hat  a  letter, 
addressed  to  one  of  the  squaw  men  who  had  been  prominent 
during  the  preceding  day's  election  work. 

"Ain't  no  one  up?"  the  negro  asked.  "  Dis  yere's  an 
impohtant  communication  from  de  bankah  ovah  at  Wau- 
chula.  I'se  been  ridin'  mos'  o'  de  night  to  bring  it  heh." 

Marchand  directed  that  the  landlord  of  the  tavern  be 
called,  and  then,  almost  before  he  was  conscious  of  a  distinct 
intention,  he  wras  on  his  way  to  Moma  Binna. 

For  an  hour  he  waited  on  the  veranda,  and  as  soon  as 
there  were  signs  of  awakening,  he  sent  a  servant  for  Hatta- 
kowa.  When  Marchand  had  told  his  story  of  the  conversa- 


MARCH  AND    MAKES   A   VISIT  171 

tion  he  had  overheard,  and  had  mentioned  the  arrival  of  the 
messenger,  Hattakowa  expressed  no  surprise. 

"  It  is  likely  Brown  has  had  Gee-Haw  notify  my  oppo- 
nents here  that  the  returns  from  Pickens  County  will  be  late," 
Hattakowa  remarked.  "  They  will  want  some  time  in 
order  to  know  just  how  much  '  fixing  '  the  votes  will  need." 

Two  eventful  days  went  by;  then  it  was  generally  under- 
stood that  when,  at  the  beginning  of  the  next  week,  the 
legislature  counted  the  votes,  it  would  be  found  that  Hatta- 
kowa had  been  elected. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

THE    CONTEST    FOR   POWER 

WITH  the  assembling  of  the  legislature,  Tishomingo  an- 
nually awoke  from  its  usual  torpor.  On  the  Monday  that 
the  senate  and  the  lower  house  wrere  called  to  order  in  joint 
session  to  count  the  election  returns,  there  was  an  unwonted 
crowd  on  the  principal  street  of  the  town.  Parties  of  horse- 
men rode  in  from  Ardmore  and  Wauchula,  and  wagon  loads 
of  fullbloods  and  halfbreeds  came  from  all  directions.  Beau- 
mont had  been  a  member  of  the  senate  for  many  terms  and 
he  was  early  in  his  chair,  which  was  placed  at  the  right  hand 
side  of  the  high  platform  where  sat  the  Governor  of  the 
Chickasaw  Nation,  the  President  of  the  Senate,  and  the 
Speaker  of  the  House  of  Representatives.  The  joint  session 
caused  the  big  room  to  be  crowded. 

It  was  evident  that  the  two  Mattisons  had  their  party  well 
under  control,  for  the  fullbloods  were  brought  in  and  placed 
carefully  so  that  the  Progressive  party  would  be  centralised 
among  Hattakowa's  scattered  supporters.  Gee-Haw  Blikens 
stood  against  the  wall,  where  the  spectators  jostled  one 
another.  Just  as  the  gavel  fell  Hattakowa  and  Samuel 
Jenkins  were  seen  to  enter  the  legislative  chamber.  The 
President  of  the  Senate  pounded  upon  the  deal  table.  In- 
stantly there  was  a  silence.  The  fullblood,  Henry  Sands's 
successor  as  Governor,  was  a  stupid-looking  Indian,  who 
betrayed  not  the  slightest  interest  in  the  proceedings. 

When  it  was  announced  that  the  counting  of  the  returns 
was  next  in  the  order  of  business,  there  was  a  stir  of  ex- 
pectancy. Even  the  stolid  fullbloods  craned  their  necks  to 
see  the  National  Secretary,  as  he  stepped  forward  to  deliver 
a  sealed  package  to  the  Speaker  of  the  House.  Four  en- 

172 


THE   CONTEST   FOR    POWER  173 

velopes  fell  from  the  wrapping  when  the  Speaker  broke  the 
seal.  With  due  formality  Panola  County  was  first  reported. 
It  gave  Hattakowa  a  sweeping  majority.  The  announcement 
was  cheered  lustily  by  the  Non-Progressive  party,  while  the 
men  under  the  Mattisons'  control  maintained  silence.  Tish- 
omingo  County  gave  but  twenty  votes  to  Jenkins.  Again 
Hattakowa's  friends  cheered  while  their  candidate,  standing 
at  the  back  of  the  room,  made  no  sign,  as  he  steadily  watched 
the  men  on  the  platform.  Pickens  County  returned  a  ma- 
jority in  even  hundreds  for  Jenkins,  and  Pontotoc  also  went 
against  Hattakowa. 

A  breathless  silence  lasted  while  the  Speaker  made  a  quick 
computation.  The  older  Mattison  smiled  triumphantly  at 
a  moment  when  Beaumont  was  glancing  back  at  Hattakowa. 

Again  the  gavel  dropped  upon  the  deal  table. 

"  The  Speaker  is  ready  to  announce  the  returns,"  said  a 
commanding  voice.  Stepping  to  the  very  edge  of  the  platform, 
the  Speaker  began  the  legal  formula,  to  which  no  one  listened 
until  he  came  to  the  words :  "  Joseph  Dixon,  having  received 
a  majority  of  fifty-five  votes,  I  hereby  declare  to  be  the 
newly  elected  Governor  of  the  Chickasaw  Nation." 

The  interpreter  repeated  each  word  in  the  Chickasaw  dia- 
lect, and  instantly  the  room  became  a  bedlam  of  confused 
sound.  Hattakowa's  friends  cheered  and  shouted,  while  his 
opponents  groaned  and  hissed.  It  was  evident  that  Matti- 
son and  the  other  leaders  of  the  Progressive  party  were 
astonished  at  the  result.  For  a  few  moments  their  con- 
sternation prevented  them  from  taking  any  action.  The 
Speaker  announced  that  Joseph  Dixon  would  be  conducted 
to  the  platform  by  George  Beaumont  and  John  Oaktree. 
Then  Mattison  took  the  floor. 

"  I  protest!  "  he  said.  "  There  is  a  mistake  in  the  returns 
of  Pickens  County.  I  ask  that  the  installation  of  Joseph 
Dixon  as  Governor  of  the  Chickasaw  Nation  be  postponed 
until  investigation  can  be  made." 


174  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

"  No !  No !  No !  "  cried  members  of  the  Non-Progressive 
party,  but  the  hubbub  was  so  great  that  words  could  not  be 
heard  above  the  noise  of  moving  chairs  and  stamping  feet. 

With  his  arms  folded,  Hattakowa  looked  on  as  if  he  were 
in  no  way  concerned.  He  was  quick  to  understand  that  in 
some  manner  the  dishonest  efforts  of  his  enemies  had  mis- 
carried ;  they  had  made  a  mistake  in  their  calculations.  He 
saw  Gee-Haw  Blikens  slink  away  from  the  door,  and  no- 
ticed that  the  Mattisons  were  taking  counsel  with  several 
squaw  men. 

Someone  moved  to  adjourn  until  the  next  day,  and 
Hattakowa  passed  out  of  doors  with  the  crowd. 

Henry  Sands,  who  had  been  among  the  spectators,  was 
always  ready  to  act  in  times  of  emergency.  Stationing  him- 
self upon  the  front  steps  of  the  capitol,  he  quietly  invited  all 
who  belonged  to  the  Non-Progressive  party  to  report  after 
sundown  at  Moma  Binna,  and  every  man  was  cautioned  to 
keep  secret  the  fact  that  a  meeting  had  been  arranged. 

That  night  members  of  the  legislature  were  not  the  only 
men  who  gathered  at  Moma  Binna.  Two  hundred  of 
Hattakowa's  supporters  came  to  offer  assistance  in  asserting 
the  rights  of  the  new  Governor.  Before  the  hour  of  the 
conference  Sands  had  had  the  grounds  of  Moma  Binna 
patrolled  so  that  there  could  be  no  danger  of  spies  from  the 
opposition.  Then  he  addressed  the  men.  He  proposed  that 
some  time  after  midnight  they  should  march  to  the  capitol 
and  take  possession.  This  plan  met  with  enthusiastic  ap- 
proval. While  the  men  smoked  and  waited,  scouts  who 
were  sent  down  to  the  Poyner  tavern  on  reconnoitering  tours, 
came  back  with  the  news  that  the  two  Mattisons  were  about 
the  only  sober  members  of  the  opposition  party.  In  some 
mysterious  way,  several  kegs  of  whisky  had  been  smuggled 
into  Tishomingo,  and,  as  the  town  marshal  and  the  sheriff 
belonged  to  the  Progressive  political  faith,  there  was  no  inter- 
ference with  the  orgy. 


THE    CONTEST   FOR    POWER  175 

It  was  judged  advisable  to  delay  the  march  to  the  capitol 
until  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  most  of  the  revellers 
would  be  sleeping  off  the  effects  of  their  debauch.  Then, 
under  cover  of  darkness,  the  men,  with  Hattakowa  leading, 
and  Beaumont  and  Sands  bringing  up  the  rear,  moved  noise- 
lessly down  the  hill.  The  Indian  instinct,  long  dormant, 
appeared  to  awaken,  and  the  members  of  the  Non-Progressive 
party  walked  in  single  file  as  stealthily  as  if  they  were  start- 
ing upon  the  war  path. 

Beaumont  had  the  keys  of  the  capitol ;  entrance,  therefore, 
was  easy.  The  two  hundred  men  took  possession  without 
being  discovered.  It  had  been  stipulated  by  Beaumont  that 
no  one  should  carry  a  weapon  of  any  sort. 

"  We  have  right  on  our  side,"  he  said,  "  and  we  must  not 
lay  ourselves  open  to  the  temptation  of  resorting  to  vio- 
lence." 

When  the  hour  for  the  morning  session  came,  the  men 
who  had  kept  the  night's  vigil  had  breakfasted  in  camp  style 
from  supplies  hastily  provided  by  Beaumont  and  Sands,  and 
the  members  of  the  legislature  were  in  their  places  long  before 
the  opposition  began  to  arrive.  Hattakowa  occupied  a  seat 
on  the  platform,  and,  when  the  fullblood  who  had  held  the 
chief  office  in  the  Nation  came  in,  he  hesitated  a  moment 
before  going  to  his  chair.  The  President  of  the  Senate  and 
the  Speaker  of  the  House  showed  surprise  when  they  first 
saw  Hattakowa,  but,  according  to  the  returns,  he  was  the 
newly  elected  Governor,  and  they  began  the  business  of  the 
day  without  appearing  to  notice  anything  unusual.  From 
the  floor,  Sands,  who  was  a  member  of  the  Senate,  moved  that 
Joseph  Dixon  be  installed  as  Governor.  The  motion  was 
seconded,  and,  before  the  opposition  knew  what  was  happen- 
ing, Hattakowa  was  taking  the  oath  of  office. 

In  clear,  steady  tones  the  new  Governor  of  the  Chickasaws 
addressed  his  people.  He  said  he  stood  for  justice  to  the 
Indians,  who  must,  necessarily,  be  the  victims  of  the  white 


176  THE    MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

man's  progress.  As  head  of  the  Nation  he  declared  that  he 
would  fight  every  measure  that  threatened  to  deprive  the 
Chickasaws  of  their  allotment  of  the  lands  which  was  their 
lawful  heritage. 

"  The  water  still  runs,  and  the  grass  still  grows,"  he  said, 
in  conclusion,  "  but  while  the  streams  are  yet  flowing  over 
the  green  plains  there  will  dawn  a  day  the  sun  of  which 
will  shine  upon  not  one  acre  of  farm  or  forest  that  belongs 
to  the  Indian.  I  am  an  obstructionist  who  would  postpone 
the  time  of  our  tribal  extinction.  I  know  that  we  must  be- 
come as  the  dead  leaves  of  long-forgotten  autumns;  I  know 
that  our  name  must  be  written  in  blood  upon  the  pages  of  the 
white  man's  history.  I  know  that  the  good  in  us  will  never 
be  known  to  those  who  have  taught  us  how  bad  it  is  possible 
for  a  man  to  become.  But,  in  these  last  years  of  the  exist- 
ence of  the  Five  Nations,  I  would  compel  the  white  man  to 
realise  how  great  we  might  have  been  if  he  had  recognised 
the  brotherhood  of  the  races  which  should  bind  together  all 
the  children  of  the  earth." 

While  Hattakowa  spoke,  even  his  enemies  listened  with 
respect,  and  they  were  still  under  the  spell  of  his  personality 
when  they  heard  him  name  the  officers  whom  it  was  the 
Governor's  privilege  to  appoint.  After  Hattakowa  had 
formed  his  staff,  the  session  was  adjourned. 

The  next  day  the  sheriff  of  Pickens  County  presented  an 
amended  election  report,  which  was  duly  sworn  to.  This 
set  forth  that  an  error  had  been  made  in  the  count,  and  it 
gave  to  Jenkins  a  majority  which  entitled  him  to  the  coveted 
office.  The  report  was  not  accepted,  for  the  Non-Progressive 
party  was  able  to  have  it  put  upon  the  table  until  the  re- 
turns could  be  investigated. 

For  several  days  Hattakowa  and  his  party  caused  the  busi- 
ness of  the  legislature  to  proceed  as  smoothly  as  if  all  dis- 
putes had  been  settled.  In  Pickens  County  Judge  Maury 
and  his  son  were  engaged  in  an  attempt  to  prove  that  fraudu- 


THE   CONTEST   FOR    POWER  177 

lent  votes  had  been  counted,  but  they  did  not  succeed  in 
getting  any  evidence,  except  that  which  showed  that  Billy 
Brown  had  given  money  and  advice  to  the  Progressive  party. 
It  was  evident  that  the  banker  had  been  shrewd  enough  to 
make  the  two  Mattisons  believe  in  his  honesty  and  disin- 
terestedness. 

At  the  various  sessions  of  the  legislature  there  was  an  air 
of  suppressed  excitement  and  apprehension.  On  the  day  that 
the  elder  Mattison  introduced  into  the  senate  a  bill  designat- 
ing the  Wauchula  National  Bank  as  the  repository  of  the 
tribal  funds  of  the  Chickasaw  Nation,  the  expected  outbreak 
occurred.  Parliamentary  formalities  were  ignored  by  the 
Non-Progressive  party,  which  accused  Mattison  of  being  the 
agent  of  the  white  interlopers,  the  most  dangerous  of  whom 
was  Billy  Brown,  president  of  the  bank.  There  was  a 
scene  of  such  turbulence  that  Sands  and  Beaumont  moved  an 
adjournment.  In  the  afternoon  a  joint  session  of  the  two 
houses  was  called.  Then  it  was  noticed  that  Hattakowa  sat 
upon  the  platform.  As  Governor  Dixon,  he  readily  ob- 
tained a  hearing.  In  a  few  words  he  explained  how  he  had 
come  into  possession  of  certain  documents  that  were  of 
interest  to  the  Chickasaw  Nation.  With  Sands  as  inter- 
preter, he  read,  line  by  line,  the  copies  of  Billy  Brown's  papers 
which  had  been  lost  in  the  cyclone.  Even  when  the  Matti- 
sons comprehended  the  meaning  of  the  syndicate  formed  for 
the  importation  of  Mississippi  Indians  to  claim  shares  in  the 
Territory  lands,  they  tried  to  drown  Hattakowa's  voice  by 
cries  of  "  Out  of  order!  Out  of  order!  "  The  new  Gov- 
ernor stopped  for  a  moment,  while  the  President  of  the 
Senate  restored  quiet. 

"  I  demand  respect  for  my  office,  if  not  for  myself,"  said 
Hattakowa,  throwing  back  his  head,  and  casting  a  flashing 
glance  upon  his  audience.  There  was  majesty  in  his  pose. 
With  a  dominant  power  that  might  have  been  part  of  the 
great  chief  Apushamatahah's  legacy  to  him,  he  compelled 


178  THE   MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

silence.  When  the  reading  was  ended,  Jimmy  Sunfish,  in 
behalf  of  the  fullbloods,  who  were  slow  to  understand  the 
meaning  of  legal  phraseology,  asked  that  certain  paragraphs 
be  repeated.  Hattakowa  read  a  second  time  from  the  pro- 
visions according  to  which  thousands  of  acres  could  be  ob- 
tained by  the  scheming  white  men. 

A  murmur  of  anger  rose  in  volume  until  it  became  a 
deafening  clamour.  Standing  upon  his  chair  Cole  Mattison 
shouted:  "  Why  do  you  listen  to  thieves  who  steal  a  man's 
private  papers?  "  One  of  John  Oaktree's  sons  dragged  him 
from  the  chair.  The  fullbloods  looked  and  listened  with 
but  a  vague  understanding  of  the  meaning  of  the  scene. 
From  the  platform  Hattakowa  looked  down  upon  the  surg- 
ing crowd,  for  not  a  man  remained  in  his  seat,  and  spectators 
mingled  with  the  legislators.  The  President  of  the  Senate 
and  the  Speaker  of  the  House  took  turns  in  wielding  the 
gavel,  but  no  one  paid  any  attention  to  their  efforts  for  the 
restoration  of  order.  Presently  the  Speaker  of  the  House 
sent  the  pages  through  the  crowd  to  announce  that  the  Senate 
would  retire  to  its  separate  chamber,  and  the  withdrawal  of 
the  stronger  body  of  men  made  it  possible  for  the  House 
to  take  up  the  regular  business  of  the  day. 


CHAPTER    XXII 
THE   SIEGE   OF  THE   CAPITOL 

Two  mornings  later  when  Hattakowa  went  early  to  the 
capitol  with  Beaumont,  Sands,  and  John  Oaktree,  they  found 
four  of  the  Indian  police  guarding  the  doors. 

"  You  must  not  enter,"  said  one  of  the  men,  respectfully 
saluting  the  Governor. 

"  By  whose  order  am  I  barred  out  from  my  office  in  this 
building?  "  Hattakowa  asked. 

"  Senator  Mattison  telegraphed  to  Washington,  and  the 
Department  of  the  Interior  has  ordered  the  United  States 
Marshal  to  lock  the  capitol  until  the  contest  can  be  settled," 
was  the  answer. 

"  Until  I  receive  some  direct  notification  I  shall  not 
recognise  the  order,"  replied  Hattakowa,  passing  the  un- 
resisting guards  and  opening  the  doors  for  his  friends,  many 
of  whom  had  gathered  during  the  brief  dialogue. 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  a  large  force  of  Indian  police  with 
the  United  States  Marshal  in  command  surrounded  the 
capitol.  Inside  the  building  fifty  of  Hattakowa's  friends  had 
entrenched  themselves  in  the  suite  of  rooms  that  served  as  the 
Governor's  private  offices.  A  few  of  the  younger  halfbreeds 
carried  firearms,  but  the  new  Governor  requested  his  friends 
to  remember  that  he  was  the  representative  of  law  and  order. 
Inasmuch  as  the  Department  of  the  Interior  had  not  issued  a 
command  to  him,  he  held  that  he  had  the  right  to  retain  his 
office  by  force,  if  necessary,  until  legal  cause  for  his  removal 
could  be  produced. 

As  the  day  wore  on,  an  excited  crowd  gathered  on  the 
capitol  hill.  The  duly  accredited  members  of  the  legislature 

179 


i8o  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

protested  when  they  were  not  admitted  to  the  capitol,  but  the 
guards  had  received  reinforcements,  and  no  one  passed  the 
doors  through  which  Hattakowa  had  effected  an  entrance. 

After  night  had  fallen,  the  United  States  Marshal,  who 
declined  to  permit  any  food  to  be  delivered  to  the  men  inside 
the  building,  winked  at  the  fact  that  much  whisky  was  being 
passed  around  among  the  members  of  the  Progressive  party, 
who  shared  their  flasks  with  the  Indian  police. 

An  hour  after  midnight  a  drunken  fullblood  fired  a  rifle 
shot  through  the  windows  of  the  Governor's  office.  This  was 
a  signal  for  a  fusillade  from  a  score  of  intoxicated  halfbreeds 
and  squaw  men.  The  maudlin  crowd  was  instantly  trans- 
formed into  a  desperate  mob,  which  still  retained  enough  of 
reasoning  power  to  feel  the  instinct  of  self-protection.  Fall- 
ing back  behind  the  trees  the  men  waited  to  see  whether  their 
fire  would  be  returned.  The  Indian  police  vainly  tried  to 
disperse  the  mob,  but  the  night  watch  was  helpless  against 
the  overwhelming  number  composing  the  disorderly  crowd. 

The  doors  of  the  capitol  had  been  locked  on  the  inside. 
Suddenly  they  were  thrown  open  and  Hattakowa  stood  alone 
upon  the  steps.  Behind  him  shone  a  big  lamp,  against  the 
light  of  which  his  tall  figure  was  strongly  silhouetted. 
Peering  out  into  the  darkness,  he  sought  to  locate  the  attack- 
ing force.  A  bullet  whistled  above  his  uncovered  head. 

"  Cowards,"  he  shouted,  "  come  here  where  I  can  speak  to 
you." 

The  drunken  men  slunk  farther  into  the  shadows  of  the 
trees. 

"  We  don't  want  to  hear  you,"  answered  Cole  Mattison, 
who  had  been  leaning  against  the  wall  of  the  building. 
Slowly  he  walked  up  the  capitol  steps  and,  without  warn- 
ing, struck  at  Hattakowa.  "  I  have  a  chance  to  pay  an  old 
grudge  now !  "  he  cried.  "  I  have  hated  you  all  my  life." 

The  two  men  clinched.  For  a  few  moments  there  was  a 
contest  of  strength  so  evenly  matched  that  the  mob  left  the 


THE   SIEGE    OF   THE    CAPITOL         181 

shelter  of  the  trees  to  get  a  nearer  view  of  the  struggle. 
Mattison,  who  was  heavier  that  Hattakowa,  dragged  him 
down  the  steps,  but  the  assailant  was  not  so  skilful  a  wrest- 
ler as  the  man  who  defended  himself  from  an  unprovoked 
attack.  By  a  lucky  stroke  Hattakowa  felled  his  enemy, 
and,  when  he  had  him  down,  turned  contemptuously  from 
his  vanquished  foe.  As  soon  as  he  could  recover  breath, 
Hattakowa  spoke  to  the  crowd,  that  had  formed  a  circle 
around  the  antagonists. 

"  You  have  wounded  one  of  the  sons  of  John  Oaktree," 
he  said.  "  As  Governor  of  the  Chickasaw  Nation,  I  shall 
cause  the  punishment  of  every  man  who  has  used  firearms 
to-night." 

"  You  are  Governor  for  a  week !  "  jeered  a  drunken  half- 
breed.  "  We're  going  to  count  you  out." 

Hattakowa's  lips  curled  scornfully. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  the  United  States  Marshal,"  he  said, 
ignoring  the  remark,  and  looking  for  the  officer,  who  was 
not  in  the  crowd. 

"  The  marshal's  down  in  the  tavern  taking  a  rest,"  vol- 
unteered someone. 

"  Tell  him  I  desire  to  see  him,  and  have  him  bring  a 
physician  with  him,"  commanded  Hattakowa,  before  whom 
the  mob  fell  back  as  he  turned  to  ascend  the  capitol  steps. 

Gee-Haw  Blikens  staggered  toward  him. 

"  Them  there  papahs  I  found  ain't  goin'  to  do  you  much 
good,"  he  taunted  with  a  maudlin  laugh.  "  You  all's  land's 
goin'  to  be  cut  up  and  give  away  and  you  can't  he'p  it !  " 

Hattakowa  looked  at  the  white  man  as  he  would  have 
glanced  at  an  ugly  cur,  and,  not  deigning  further  to  notice 
him,  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  capitol,  without  encounter- 
ing interference  from  the  guards,  who  were  secretly  his 
friends. 

He  had  just  entered  the  building  when  a  horseman  rode 
up  to  the  steps.  The  rider  compelled  the  crowd  to  give  way 


1 82  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

before  him,  and,  alighting,  looked  down  at  the  mob,  which 
mistook  him  for  a  messenger  who  might  bear  important  news. 

"  Where  is  Governor  Dixon  ?  " 

"  If  you  go  to  find  him,  you'll  have  to  stay  with  him," 
answered  a  surly  white  man.  "  If  you're  a  friend  of  his'n, 
you'd  better  go  back  wrhere  you  come  from." 

The  drunken  guards  aroused  themselves  enough  to  stand 
in  the  doorway  when  Marchand  tried  to  enter  the  capitol. 

"  I  come  from  the  Dawes  Commission,"  said  Marchand, 
with  a  voice  of  authority,  and  the  men  stood  back  to  let  him 
pass. 

He  found  Hattakowa,  Beaumont,  and  Sands,  who  opened 
the  barricaded  doors  to  let  him  into  the  rooms,  where  they 
had  passed  many  anxious  hours. 

"  I  heard  that  General  Chillingsworth  was  on  his  way 
here,  and  I  lost  no  time  in  coming  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Dixon," 
he  said,  shaking  Hattakowa's  hand  with  a  clasp  that  gave 
assurance  of  his  understanding  of  the  situation.  "  The  Gen- 
eral will  report  to  the  Department  of  the  Interior,  and  you 
need  have  no  fear  that  he  will  not  be  just." 

On  a  long  settee  in  the  corner  lay  John  Oaktree's  son,  to 
whom  Sands  had  given  intelligent  attention.  A  bullet  had 
shattered  the  young  man's  arm,  and  he  was  exhausted  from 
loss  of  blood. 

"  Inasmuch  as  General  Chillingsworth  is  coming,  I  think 
it  is  wrise  for  us  to  persuade  Jenkins  and  his  friends  to  agree 
that  they  will  suspend  hostilities  until  the  Department  of  the 
Interior  can  arbitrate,"  said  Beaumont.  "  In  the  old  days 
we  could  have  held  the  capitol  until  our  warlike  spirit  would 
have  won  the  admiration  and  loyalty  of  all  the  fullbloods, 
but  now  we  shall  have  the  greedy  white  population  against 
us,  with  Billy  Brown  and  others  of  his  kind  to  foment  all 
sorts  of  troubles." 

'  You  speak  wisely,"  answered  Sands.  "  We  have  a  hun- 
dred hidden  foes  to  every  open  enemy." 


THE   SIEGE    OF   THE    CAPITOL         183 

"  I  have  sent  for  the  United  States  Marshal  who,  as  usual, 
is  not  to  be  found,"  announced  Hattakowa. 

After  the  fusillade  the  lamps,  which  Hattakowa  had 
quickly  extinguished,  had  not  been  relighted,  and  the  largest 
room  of  the  office  suite  was  dimly  illuminated  by  a  candle 
stuck  into  an  empty  ink  bottle.  Beaumont  searched  Hatta- 
kowa's  desk  for  papers,  and,  seating  himself  at  a  convenient 
table,  began  to  draw  up  articles  of  agreement  by  which 
Jenkins  and  Hattakowa  should  pledge  themselves  to  abide 
by  the  decision  of  the  Department  of  the  Interior.  When 
the  draft  of  the  agreement  was  finished,  Marchand  went  out 
in  search  of  the  marshal,  who  had  arrived  with  Jenkins. 
Hattakowa  was  soon  summoned. 

"  It  is  my  duty  to  arrest  you  for  resisting  the  Indian 
police,"  declared  the  marshal,  an  ugly-visaged  mixedblood. 

"  As  Governor  of  the  Nation,  I  advise  you  to  arrest  the 
men  who  fired  upon  the  capitol  to-night,  and  those  who  sup- 
plied the  whisky  that  made  the  crowd  irresponsible,"  Hatta- 
kowa answered. 

The  marshal  looked  at  him  angrily,  and,  hearing  a  shout 
from  the  crowd  outside,  withdrew  to  discuss  the  situation 
with  Jenkins.  In  an  hour  he  came  back  with  the  document 
signed  by  Samuel  Jenkins.  Hattakowa  affixed  his  signature 
to  it. 

Just  before  dawn  the  capitol  was  evacuated  by  Hattakowa 
and  his  friends.  The  Indian  police,  who  had  been  doing 
but  half-hearted  service,  because  Hattakowa  had  been  the 
most  fearless  member  of  the  Chickasaw  force,  obeyed  with 
alacrity  orders  issued  by  the  Governor.  A  litter  for  John 
Oaktree's  son  was  improvised,  and  one  of  the  men  wrent  in 
search  of  a  physician. 

In  order  that  he  might  lock  in  the  vault  the  copy  of  his 
agreement  with  Jenkins,  Hattakowa  lingered  in  his  office 
after  the  others  had  gone  out.  When  he  entered  the  corri- 
dor leading  to  the  main  hall  of  the  capitol  he  found  it  so 


1 84  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

dark  that  he  had  to  feel  his  way.  Hattakowa  had  never 
known  fear,  but,  as  he  turned  the  key  in  the  office  door,  he 
thought  he  was  conscious  that  someone  was  lurking  near 
him.  He  walked  a  few  steps,  and  then  he  was  sure  that  he 
was  followed.  As  he  turned,  an  unseen  hand  stabbed  him, 
and,  when  the  knife  was  withdrawn,  he  felt  a  stinging  pain 
in  his  right  shoulder.  He  tried  to  lift  his  arm  to  seize  his 
assailant,  but  his  hand  was  powerless. 

There  was  a  second  of  sickening  uncertainty,  as  if  the 
unseen  foe  waited  to  know  how  well  he  had  done  his  work, 
and  Hattakowa  had  presence  of  mind  enough  to  back  up 
against  the  wall,  where  he  waited  until  his  enemy  should 
make  a  second  lunge  at  him.  Groping  in  the  dark,  the 
hand  that  held  the  dagger  touched  him  and  he  sprang  with 
the  lightness  and  suppleness  that  distinguishes  the  Indian 
wrestler.  Although  his  right  arm  was  helpless,  he  used  his 
left  with  such  adroitness  that  he  wrested  the  knife  from  his 
antagonist  as  they  fell  together  to  the  floor.  Hattakowa  felt 
the  blood  gush  from  his  wound,  and  a  faintness  almost  over- 
came him.  In  that  moment  his  enemy  thrust  him  aside,  and 
he  could  hear  him  steal  away  in  the  direction  of  the  rear  of 
the  building.  With  difficulty  Hattakowa  drew  himself  to 
his  feet.  Holding  the  bloody  knife  he  had  captured,  he 
managed  to  make  his  way  out  into  the  fresh  morning  air, 
to  Beaumont  and  Marchand,  who  were  waiting  for  him  on 
the  hill,  a  few  yards  from  the  capitol. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

DEFEAT 

WHEN  General  Chillingsworth  arrived  at  Tishomingo,  he 
found  that  the  Governor  of  the  Chickasaw  Nation  had  been 
seriously  wounded.  The  night  of  mob  rule  had  wrought  a 
change  in  public  sentiment.  The  white  settlers,  who  beheld 
the  situation  from  the  vantage  ground  of  spectators,  believed 
that  the  grossest  frauds  had  been  practised,  and  it  had  been 
demonstrated  to  them  that  the  Non-Progressive  party  was  the 
one  which  was  civilised,  and  that  the  Progressive  party  con- 
tained many  who  were  ready  to  resort  to  violence  to  attain 
their  ends.  Marchand  had  remained  in  Tishomingo  because 
he  found  he  could  be  of  service  to  Pakali's  father,  and  he 
proved  to  be  of  much  assistance  in  collecting  information 
for  the  department  inspector.  The  day  before  his  return  to 
Washington  General  Chillingsworth  was  permitted  to  see 
Hattakowa,  who  had  already  begun  to  chafe  against  the 
restraint  of  the  sick  room  at  Moma  Binna. 

In  Indian  Territory,  politics  seems  to  be  a  dangerous 
pursuit,"  remarked  General  Chillingsworth,  as  he  stood  by 
the  bed  upon  which  Hattakowa  lay. 

"  You  see  we  Chickasaws  are  becoming  so  civilised  that  we 
are  ready  to  commit  murder  in  the  name  of  law  and  order, 
where  formerly  we  scalped  one  another  in  the  name  of  hate 
and  revenge,"  replied  Hattakowa. 

"  This  is  a  bad  business,"  declared  the  General.  "  There 
appears  to  be  not  the  least  doubt  that  you  were  elected,  and 
by  a  larger  count  than  was  first  returned." 

"  That  fact  will  not  make  much  difference  with  the  de- 
cision of  the  Department  of  the  Interior,"  answered  Hatta- 

185 


1 86  THE    MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

kowa.  "  By  the  time  you  reach  Washington  there  will  be  so 
much  evidence  and  so  much  testimony  to  counterbalance  your 
report  that  the  Department  will  not  dare  to  make  a  decision 
for  me." 

"  The  Federal  Government  follows  the  policy  which  is 
believed  to  be  best  for  the  Indian,"  the  General  replied,  with 
the  laudable  desire  of  defending  the  authorities  at  Wash- 
ington. 

"  It  is  four  hundred  years  too  late  for  us  to  expect  justice," 
said  Hattakowa,  wearily  turning  his  head  on  the  pillow. 

The  General  took  leave  of  him  with  many  assurances  of 
friendship,  but  the  glimpse  of  the  inspector  merely  strength- 
ened Hattakowa's  conviction  that  he  could  not  hope  for  fed- 
eral support. 

The  next  day  Marchand  accompanied  General  Chillings- 
worth  on  a  trip  to  Pickens  County,  and  at  Moma  Binna  life 
gradually  assumed  its  usual  routine.  Mrs.  Dixon  had  come 
to  take  care  of  her  son,  and  when  Hattakowa  was  out  of 
danger  he  was  conscious  that  the  vague  impression  of  Pakali's 
presence,  felt  during  the  days  of  extreme  weakness,  had  not 
been  due  to  his  habit  of  dreaming  of  her.  Often  she  sat  in 
the  chair  at  the  head  of  his  bed,  and  her  nearness  soothed  his 
troubled  spirit.  Miko  now  and  then  tiptoed  in  to  gaze 
solemnly  at  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun,  and  once,  when 
no  one  was  watching,  the  child  placed  upon  Hattakowa's 
pillow  his  most  prized  possession — a  pollywog  he  had  lately 
caught  in  a  shallow  pool  at  the  edge  of  Pennington  Creek. 

One  morning  Hattakowa  awoke  feeling  much  refreshed. 
He  had  had  a  dream  in  which  he  and  Pakali  seemed  to  be 
journeying  through  a  forest  on  a  road  that  would  never  end. 
He  came  back  to  the  real  world  with  a  start,  and,  after  he 
had  thought  for  a  long  time,  he  asked  his  mother  whether 
he  might  be  permitted  to  talk  for  half  an  hour. 

Mrs.  Dixon  bade  him  to  be  patient,  but,  with  a  man's 
wilfulness,  he  asserted  that  he  intended  to  show  how  far  he 


DEFEAT  187 

had  recovered.  Long  before  it  was  time  for  Pakali  and  her 
father  to  visit  him  he  was  restless  and  impatient.  When  they 
did  come  he  was  looking  tired.  Beaumont  reported  that, 
notwithstanding  all  his  efforts,  it  was  impossible  to  find  out 
who  had  been  cowardly  enough  to  stab  a  man  in  the  dark. 

"  I  can  hardly  believe  that  Cole  Mattison,  whom  we  have 
known  since  he  was  a  boy,  could  commit  such  an  act  even 
though  he  was  drunk,"  declared  Beaumont,  "  and  yet,  he 
had  insulted  you  earlier  in  the  evening,  and  it  is  a  plausible 
theory  that  he  might  try  to  retaliate  for  your  easy  victory 
over  him." 

"  It  does  not  seem  possible  that  anyone  could  hate  Hatta- 
kowa,"  remarked  Pakali,  smiling  upon  her  kinsman. 

"  Cole  Mattison  has  the  Indian  love  of  leadership,"  said 
Beaumont,  "  and  somehow  he  has  always  envied  Hattakowa, 
ever  since  their  schooldays,  when  all  the  boys  disliked  Cole." 

"  When  I  am  well  I  shall  be  able  to  find  my  foe,"  said 
Hattakowa,  with  confidence  in  his  tone.  He  motioned 
toward  the  chair  in  which  he  wished  Pakali  to  sit.  As  he 
made  the  gesture  with  his  long,  thin,  left  hand,  Pakali  saw 
that  the  ruby  flashed  on  his  finger.  After  Beaumont  had  gone 
away  Hattakowa  removed  the  ring. 

"  Pakali,  will  you  let  me  talk  to  you  very  seriously?  "  he 
said.  His  brown  skin  showed  the  peculiar  opaque  shade  that 
illness  gives  to  persons  of  the  darker  races,  and  there  were 
lines  about  the  eyes  and  mouth  that  marked  the  thought  and 
experiences  of  an  intense  nature.  His  voice  was  so  solemn 
that  Pakali  answered,  evasively: 

"  Why  should  you  be  serious  to-day?  Isn't  it  enough  to 
be  happy  because  your  life  is  spared  ?  " 

"  As  I  have  lain  here  helpless  I  have  felt  that,  for  me,  life 
is  not  a  gift  I  can  value  without  the  love  of  my  Star 
Woman." 

"  Often  you  have  told  me  you  would  not  mention  the 
forbidden  subject,"  Pakali  answered  gently. 


1 88  THE    MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

"  I  mean  to  be  so  strong  " — Hattakowa  drew  a  long 
breath — "  yet  when  you  know  that  I  think  of  you  every 
waking  hour  you  will  forgive  my  thoughts  for  taking  words. 
In  these  hours  when  I  have  had  time  to  think,  I  have  ad- 
mitted to  myself  the  impossibility  of  helping  my  people.  We 
must  submit  to  the  white  man's  tyranny.  The  spirit  in  me 
is  a  survival  of  a  dying  race.  If  it  were  not  for  you  and 
for  my  mother  I  should  regret  my  returning  strength." 

Pakali  put  her  hand  upon  Hattakowa's  and  said  softly: 
"  We  cannot  change  our  destinies." 

"  Yet,"  he  spoke  slowly,  "  the  weakness  in  me  craves  some 
word  that  might  make  the  future  years  beckon  to  me.  I 
talk  to  you  to-day  because  I  must  face  the  task  of  living  and 
I  know  there  can  be  no  halfway  place  where  you  and  I 
can  meet." 

"  I  thought,"  faltered  Pakali,  "  I  thought  we  were  almost 
contented." 

Hattakowa  turned  his  head  on  his  pillow  and  was  silent 
for  a  few  moments. 

"  Could  you  kiss  me,  Pakali  ?  "  he  asked  presently.  "  I 
am  going  away  from  Moma  Binna  to-morrow,  and  after  that, 
when  the  Department  of  the  Interior  has  notified  me  that  1 
am  not  Governor,  I  shall  leave  the  Territory  for  a  time." 

Pakali,  leaning  over  Hattakowa,  touched  her  lips  to  his, 
and  her  tears  fell  upon  his  face.  Quickly  she  left  the  room, 
and  Hattakowa  replaced  the  ruby  ring  upon  his  finger. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

MIKO'S    EDUCATION   BEGINS 

MUCH  to  the  astonishment  of  Beaumont  and  Mrs.  Dixon, 
Hattakowa  insisted  upon  being  removed  to  his  ranch  the 
day  after  his  conversation  with  Pakali.  Although  he  was 
warned  that  the  trip  might  cause  him  serious  injury,  he  per- 
sisted in  his  determination  to  leave  Moma  Binna.  He  had 
been  at  the  ranch-  a  fortnight  when  an  official  communication 
from  the  Department  of  the  Interior  reached  him.  This  set 
forth  that,  whereas,  before  the  correct  count  of  electors  had 
been  made,  Joseph  Dixon  had  been  installed  as  Governor  of 
the  Chickasaw  Nation,  the  office  was  held  by  him  illegally. 
With  due  formality  the  said  Joseph  Dixon  was  ordered  to 
surrender  all  that  pertained  to  tfie  disputed  office  to  Samuel 
Jenkins,  who  was  declared  to  be  the  rightful  Governor. 

As  soon  as  he  was  able  to  travel,  Hattakowa  started  for 
Colorado.  During  the  weeks  of  his  confinement  to  the 
house  he  had  become  affected  with  the  melancholy  that  at- 
tacks a  strong  man  when  suddenly  made  helpless.  He  had 
never  before  been  ill,  and,  in  the  years  since  he  had  attained 
manhood,  he  had  been  able  to  escape  his  thoughts  when  they 
pressed  upon  him  too  insistently.  Nature  had  always 
brought  peace  to  him  after  he  had  been  vexed  by  the  con- 
templation of  his  life's  problems,  but,  now  that  he  was  shut 
in  beneath  a  roof  which  hid  the  heavens,  he  had  faced  the 
future  squarely.  Lying  in  bed  day  after  day  he  had  wearily 
reasoned  in  a  circle  which  invariably  brought  him  back  to  the 
one  hopeless  conclusion  that  Pakali  was  lost  to  him  forever. 
His  recent  association  with  her  had  but  served  to  make  him 
understand  that  the  savage  instinct  to  kill  the  man  who 
thwarted  his  will  was  nurtured  by  each  day's  added  knowl- 

189 


190  THE    MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

edge  of  what  Pakali  might  have  been  to  him.  In  a  dumb 
agony  of  rebellion  he  had  longed  to  find  Arnold  Stuart.  In 
imagination  he  had  felt  the  fierce  joy  of  killing  him.  He 
had  thirsted  for  blood  vengeance,  the  Indian's  panacea  for 
all  wrong.  The  idea  of  blood  vengeance  gradually  burned 
into  his  brain.  Although  he  knew  that  Pakali's  love  had  been 
given  irrevocably  to  the  white  man,  still  his  heart  demanded 
her  freedom.  When  Miko,  grave-eyed  and  wondering,  had 
come  to  his  bedside  at  Moma  Binna,  he  had  cursed  Heaven 
because  the  child  was  not  his  son. 

Hattakowa  did  not  care  for  the  things  that  most  men  crave. 
He  had  abundant  wealth,  but  money  meant  little  to  him. 
The  personal  prominence  that  the  position  as  Governor  of 
the  Chickasaws  would  have  given  him  was  distasteful  to 
his  nature,  which  shrank  from  responsibility.  It  was  a  relief 
rather  than  a  disappointment  when  the  decision  of  the  De- 
partment of  the  Interior  reached  him.  He  had  done  what 
he  could  for  his  people,  but  now  he  found  himself  without 
any  inspiring  interest  in  the  little  world  that  lay  within  the 
Territory.  The  physician  had  prescribed  change  of  scene. 
Once  he  had  mentioned  a  trip  to  Europe,  but  Hattakowa 
scornfully  declared  that  the  cities  the  white  man  had  built 
would  not  teach  him  resignation  to  the  Indian's  lot.  Palaces 
would  remind  him  of  kings  who  oppressed  their  subjects,  he 
said.  "  No,  I  shall  go  away  from  cities,"  he  announced. 

So  Hattakowa  journeyed  to  the  Rocky  Mountains,  leav- 
ing Pakali  with  an  ache  in  her  heart  because  he  suffered 
through  her. 

In  the  Territory  months  of  quiet  followed  the  excitement 
of  the  election.  The  proceedings  of  the  legislature  were 
marked  by  frequent  clashes  between  the  Progressive  and . 
the  Non-Progressive  members,  and  little  business  had  been 
finished  when  the  session  was  ended.  The  Non-Progressive 
party  gained  one  victory  of  importance:  Billy  Brown's  bank 
did  not  obtain  the  custody  of  the  Chickasaw  public  funds. 


MIKO'S    EDUCATION    BEGINS  191 

The  exposure  of  the  banker's  connection  with  the  syndicate 
made  it  impossible  for  any  member  of  the  legislature  to 
support  the  bill  designating  the  Kansan  as  a  person  worthy 
to  be  entrusted  with  money  belonging  to  the  Indians.  Thus 
far,  Hattakowa  had  been  able  to  do  his  people  a  service. 
Samuel  Jenkins,  the  Governor,  retired  to  his  ranch  after  the 
adjournment  of  the  legislature. 

At  Moma  Binna,  Pakali  and  Miko  found  the  house  too 
large.  The  many  closed  rooms  gave  a  deserted  air  to  the 
rambling  building.  Although  she  passed  several  hours  a  day 
in  teaching  her  son,  Pakali  discovered  that  the  time  dragged. 
Occasional  visits  from  her  Aunt  Totopehah  relieved  the 
monotony,  but  when  Hattakowa  sent  for  his  mother,  to 
whom  he  promised  a  long  pleasure  trip  through  the  moun- 
tains, Pakali  felt  a  loneliness  that  threw  her  back  upon  her 
own  memories  for  companionship. 

Twice  within  the  next  year  Philip  Marchand  came  to 
Tishomingo  and  Pakali  welcomed  him  as  if  he  were  one  of 
her  kinsmen.  The  young  Kentuckian  acknowledged  a  severe 
homesickness,  and  his  longing  for  friends  wras  met  with  a 
quick  sympathy,  since  Pakali  confessed  to  him  that  she  felt 
a  restlessness  which  was  almost  discontent.  Marchand 
brought  her  the  newest  books,  and,  in  return,  she  played  for 
him  the  great  compositions  they  both  loved. 

Marchand  had  become  a  valuable  employe  of  the  Dawes 
Commission.  As  his  work  gave  him  more  and  more  of  an 
insight  into  the  condition  of  the  Indians  of  the  Territory,  he 
became  an  enthusiastic  partisan  of  the  Five  Nations.  He 
and  Pakali  discussed  the  future  of  the  Territory,  when  he 
brought  reports  of  the  crowds  that  were  pouring  into  Mus- 
cogee.  On  the  occasion  of  his  second  visit,  Pakali  drew  his 
attention  to  several  new  cottages  on  a  street  recently  laid  out. 
There  was  talk  of  a  new  capitol  building,  she  told  him,  and 
he  answered  that  he  feared  Tishomingo  would  soon  be  as 
commonplace  as  any  other  western  town. 


i92  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

In  the  second  year  of  Hattakowa's  absence  from  the  Terri- 
tory, Beaumont,  who  managed  his  affairs,  was  directed  to 
set  aside  a  fund  of  several  thousand  dollars  for  the  employ- 
ment of  attorneys  who  should  protect  the  interests  of  ignorant 
fullbloods.  Hattakowa  wrote  seldom,  and  most  of  his  letters 
were  addressed  to  Miko,  as  they  contained  promises  of 
ponies,  guns,  and  numerous  other  things  dear  to  a  boy's 
heart. 

It  happened  that  Pakali's  long-cherished  idea  of  a  school 
was  realised  in  a  most  unexpected  manner.  One  day  Beau- 
mont declared  that  Miko  needed  companions.  The  old  man 
said  the  boy  must  not  be  tied  too  closely  to  his  mother's  apron 
string,  lest  he  should  grow  to  be  a  woman-hearted  Chickasaw 
instead  of  a  fine  young  brave.  Therefore,  several  of  the 
vacant  rooms  were  opened.  A  dozen  Indian  children  were 
invited  to  attend  school  at  Moma  Binna,  and  a  teacher  from 
a  northern  normal  college  was  engaged.  Then  Pakali  found 
something  partially  to  fill  the  void  in  her  life.  In  preparing 
Miko  for  his  future,  she  could  extend  her  influence  far  beyond 
Moma  Binna.  She  could  help  many  of  those  who  would  be 
the  Chickasaws  of  a  to-morrow  in  which  the  waters  would 
run,  and  the  grass  would  grow  on  lands  possessed  no  longer 
by  the  Indian. 


BOOK   III 


CHAPTER    XXV 

AUTUMN 

EARLY  autumn  had  spread  a  haze  over  Indian  Territory. 
In  the  valleys  the  fields  were  yellow  and  brown,  after  long 
weeks  of  drought.  Oak  and  maple  trees  were  touched  with 
the  golden  hue  to  which  the  springtime  green  fades  when  the 
frosts  are  late  in  coming.  In  the  valley  lands  the  brown  and 
emptying  cotton  stalks  waved  in  the  gentle  breezes  that  swept 
northward  from  the  Gulf,  and  along  the  winding  roads  that 
led  from  plantations  to  towns  lay  the  white  waste  of  an 
abundant  harvest. 

Past  Tishomingo,  Pennington  Creek,  shrunken  in  its  rocky 
course,  hastened  on  with  a  softened  sound  that  told  how  much 
of  its  springtime  power  had  been  lost  in  the  summer  months. 
Its  quiet  pools,  over  which  the  willows  hung,  were  shallower, 
and  many  a  long-washed  boulder  was  exposed  high  above  the 
level  of  the  stream.  Here  and  there  foot  bridges  had  been 
thrown  across  the  creek,  which  now  hurried  by  an  ambitious 
town  where  once  had  stagnated  a  picturesque  village. 

Tishomingo  had  changed  in  the  four  years  which  had 
passed  since  Hattakowa  had  borne  for  a  brief  month  the  title 
and  the  responsibilities  of  the  office  of  Governor  of  the 
Chickasaw  Nation.  In  those  four  years  the  white  man  had 
gradually  appropriated  the  Territory  to  his  own  uses.  He 
had  established  new  towns,  and  in  the  old  settlements  he  had 
crowded  out  the  Indian,  whose  lands  he  had  coveted.  Tisho- 
mingo had  been  the  last  place  to  feel  the  transforming  touch 
of  the  dominant  race.  Long  after  Muscogee  had  become  a 
city  which  boasted  its  likeness  to  a  state  capital;  long  after 
Ardmore  had  grown  into  an  important  centre  of  business 
activity,  Tishomingo  remained  undisturbed.  Then  the 


I96  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

much-advertised  Choctaw  route  extended  its  iron  rails  to  the 
Chickasaw  seat  of  government.  A  picturesque  station  was 
erected  and  travellers  by  the  hundred  stopped  to  admire  the 
big  stone  capitol,  which  had  replaced  the  historic  old  brick 
building  on  the  hill.  By  and  by,  some  of  these  travellers  came 
back  to  explore  what  they  called  the  most  beautiful  valley 
in  the  Territory.  And  then,  almost  before  the  fullbloods 
who  lived  far  out  on  the  hills  had  heard  that  Tishomingo  was 
attracting  attention,  a  new  town  had  replaced  the  old  settle- 
ment. In  thirty  days  a  three-story  brick  hotel,  with  all 
the  latest  modern  improvements,  was  erected  on  the  main 
street,  and  opposite  it  rose  a  bank  building  of  dressed  stone, 
like  that  which  had  been  used  in  the  walls  of  the  new  capitol. 
Within  the  space  of  six  months  Tishomingo  grew  from  a 
population  of  a  few  hundred  to  two  thousand.  Mer- 
chants rushed  to  the  growing  town,  and  stores  which  were 
miniature  copies  of  Chicago  places  of  business,  crowded  out 
the  wooden  shacks  where  general  merchandise  consisting 
of  tobacco,  bandana  handkerchiefs,  and  calfskin  boots,  had 
been  previously  sold. 

When  Pakali  looked  down  upon  Tishomingo  from  the 
place  where  she  had  stood  with  Hattakowa  on  the  night  of 
Stuart's  arrival  ten  years  before,  she  had  the  feeling  that  she 
was  an  alien.  It  was  as  if  the  old  Tishomingo  by  some 
strange  magic  had  been  replaced  by  a  new  city.  Moma 
Binna  remained  as  the  one  of  the  few  houses  identified  with 
the  old  settlement.  Pakali's  school  had  made  necessary  the 
addition  of  a  large  wing,  with  doors  opening  upon  verandas 
on  both  sides  of  the  structure.  Here,  in  company  with 
nearly  one  hundred  Indian  children,  Miko's  education  was 
now  proceeding  under  the  most  favourable  circumstances. 
Most  of  the  dozen  pupils  that  had  begun  with  the  first 
class,  four  years  before,  still  contended  with  Miko  for  honour 
marks  in  the  primary  studies.  The  manual  training  depart- 
ment had  proved  most  fascinating  to  the  brown-skinned  boys 


AUTUMN  197 

and  girls.  Beaumont  gave  hearty  assistance  whenever  finan- 
cial aid  was  necessary.  He  declared  that  Pakali  had  in- 
herited the  missionary  spirit  from  the  Little  Mother,  and  it 
was  as  if  he  were  helping  some  plan  the  wife  he  mourned 
would  have  led  him  to  encourage. 

The  new  inhabitants  of  Tishomingo  had  little  knowledge 
of  Indian  life,  and  they  often  showed  an  insulting  curiosity 
concerning  the  rambling  house  on  the  hill,  for  the  doors  of 
Moma  Binna  were  closed  to  strangers.  The  newcomers 
were  disposed  to  assume  a  patronising  attitude  toward  the 
Chickasaws,  and  Pakali,  quick  to  detect  a  supercilious  note 
in  the  tone  of  cordiality  with  which  she  was  met  at  church 
and  elsewhere,  held  aloof  from  the  families  of  the  white 
fortune  seekers.  She  knew  that  tourists,  from  the  big  brick 
hotel,  wratched  the  wagons  and  saddle  horses  which  each 
morning  carried  children  up  the  hill  to  Moma  Binna.  Now 
and  then  travellers  ventured  to  climb  up  to  the  old  garden, 
made  beautiful  since  city  waterworks  permitted  lavish  irri- 
gation. Flowers  had  been  one  of  the  Little  Mother's  joys, 
and  Pakali  cultivated  the  roses  that  she  had  been  taught  to 
love.  A  smooth  lawn  now  extended  to  the  ledge  where 
Pakali  stood  so  often  to  look  out  upon  the  little  part  of  the 
world  which  belonged  to  her  life.  When  venturesome  tour- 
ists caught  a  glimpse  of  her,  they  acknowledged  to  one  an- 
other that  the  stories  of  her  beauty  were  not  exaggerated, 
and  they  commented  upon  the  fact  that  she  dressed  according 
to  the  latest  mode. 

The  years  had  changed  Pakali,  for  the  Indian  of  the  South 
matures  early  and  ages  quickly,  but  time  had  merely  put  a 
mellowing  touch  upon  her  beauty.  Her  form,  fuller  and 
stronger  in  its  lines,  had  lost  nothing  of  its  supple  grace. 
She  still  had  the  girlish  slenderness  of  waist  and  the  litheness 
of  movement  that  had  been  counted  among  her  youthful 
charms.  In  repose  her  face  had  the  settled  sadness  which 
told  of  the  soul's  surrender  to  a  haunting  sorrow.  In  her  dark 


i98  THE    MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

eyes  the  lights  of  mirth  and  hope  shone  as  if  through  shadows. 
The  Indian  habit  of  reticence  had  taken  hold  of  her;  she 
had  learned  the  art  of  self-repression  inasmuch  as  she  had 
discovered  that  one  who  had  been  robbed  of  love  must  make 
terms  with  fate.  She  seldom  permitted  herself  to  indulge  in 
the  luxury  of  remembering  happier  days.  Upon  Miko  she 
poured  all  the  sweet  incense  of  a  heart  capable  of  intense 
emotion. 

Pakali  had  been  often  lonely  since  Hattakowa  had  with- 
drawn from  all  association  with  her.  Twice  in  the  four 
years  just  passed,  with  her  father  and  Miko,  she  had  taken 
long  journeys.  Once  they  had  travelled  for  six  months  in 
Europe,  where  she  had  vexed  herself  by  trying  to  understand 
how  easily  Stuart  might  have  forgotten  her  in  such  surround- 
ings. In  Paris,  the  Territory  appeared  to  be  a  part  of  an- 
other age.  Notwithstanding  all  her  attempts  at  logic,  Pakali 
knew  that  what  Hattakowa  called  the  "  great  love  "  took  no 
account  of  time  or  place.  When  she  visited  cities  she  was 
oppressed  with  the  sense  that  she  did  not  belong  to  the  races 
which  had  achieved  all  that  was  represented  by  the  word 
civilisation;  she  shrank  from  the  attention  that  her  father 
attracted,  for  the  old  Chickasaw  was  easily  recognised  as 
an  Indian,  and  the  scar  on  his  cheek  drew  to  him  many  ques- 
tioning glances. 

Miko  each  year  showed  more  strongly  his  Chickasaw 
blood.  On  shipboard  he  proudly  proclaimed  that  he  was  an 
Indian,  and  everywhere  they  went  he  was  spoiled  by  women 
who  admired  his  peculiar  type  of  physical  attractiveness. 
With  a  sense  of  relief  Pakali  had  returned  to  Tishomingo; 
each  excursion  into  the  white  man's  world  helped  to  reconcile 
her  to  the  surroundings  that  had  been  hers  since  babyhood. 

After  the  building  of  the  railroad  Marchand  came  oftener 
to  Tishomingo.  The  years  had  proved  him  worthy  of  a 
woman's  friendship,  and  Pakali  had  begun  to  treat  him 
much  as  she  had  treated  Hattakowa. 


AUTUMN  199 

The  Creek,  Seminole,  and  Cherokee  allotments  had  in- 
volved so  much  labour  that  the  Chickasaws  and  Choctaws  had 
been  compelled  to  wait  for  their  apportionment,  but  the  time 
had  now  come  when  offices  in  the  Tishomingo  capitol  were 
being  prepared  for  a  corps  of  clerks  from  the  force  employed 
by  the  Dawes  Commission. 

Marchand  had  been  given  the  promise  that  he  should  be 
one  of  the  men  entrusted  with  the  Chickasaw  allotment, 
and  he  came  frequently  to  Tishomingo  in  order  to  transact 
preliminary  business.  On  the  morning  after  he  had  passed 
a  night  at  the  new  hotel  the  young  Kentuckian  went  to  Moma 
Binna  to  see  Pakali,  for  an  hour,  before  he  had  to  return  to 
Muscogee.  He  happened  to  reach  the  house  just  as  the 
Indian  pupils  were  assembling  for  school.  Miko,  grown  to 
be  a  tall  stripling  of  a  boy,  ran  to  meet  him,  for  they  had 
become  good  friends. 

"  Don't  you  want  me  to  ride  with  you?  "  asked  Miko.  "  I 
am  tired  of  books,  because  it  is  a  long  time  since  the  Man 
Looking  for  the  Sun  let  me  go  anywhere  with  him." 

The  boy  had  many  of  his  mother's  ways,  and  now  he 
looked  up  at  Marchand  with  such  pretty  pleading  in  his  big 
eyes  that  it  was  difficult  to  resist  the  temptation  to  make  a 
holiday  trip  far  into  the  country. 

"  You  must  not  neglect  your  studies,"  admonished  March- 
and, with  a  smile,  as  he  put  his  hand  upon  the  child's 
shoulder.  "  You  have  grown  so  fast  that  we  must  all  realise 
how  soon  you  will  be  a  man." 

Miko  knitted  his  strongly  marked  black  brows,  as  he 
thought  for  a  moment: 

"  I  am  only  nine,"  he  said,  "  and  the  Man  Looking  for 
the  Sun  always  tells  me  that  I  can  learn  much  from  the 
forests  and  rivers." 

At  this  moment  Pakali,  who  had  been  tying  up  a  rose  bush, 
came  to  greet  the  visitor. 

"  I  can  guess  that  Miko  has  been  trying  to  make  you  a 


200  THE   MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

conspirator  who  will  help  him  escape  from  school  to-day," 
she  remarked.  "  My  son  has  the  Indian  love  of  the  woods. 
Every  day  he  seems  to  develop  some  trait  of  the  savage.  Last 
summer  he  rebelled  against  the  tyranny  of  clothes." 

"  All  boys  are  two-thirds  barbarian,"  Marchand  declared, 
"  and  they  don't  lose  all  their  primitive  instincts  even  when 
they  are  grown  to  be  men.  If  you  will  be  a  partner  in  an 
outdoor  expedition  to-day,  I  will  play  truant  with  Miko,  for, 
like  him,  I  am  tired  of  books."  Addressing  the  boy,  he 
added :  "  My  books  are  worse  than  any  that  the  teachers 
give  you  here  in  Moma  Binna.  I  have  to  study  big  white 
pages  covered  with  puzzling  figures  which  designate  land 
measurements." 

Pakali  shook  her  head,  and,  with  something  of  her  old 
girlish  manner,  answered: 

"  There  is  no  favouritism  here  at  Moma  Binna.  If  you 
take  Miko  and  me  out  into  the  woods,  you  will  have  to 
invite  three  teachers  and  one  hundred  pupils,  including  Billy 
Blikens." 

"  Much  as  I  crave  your  society,  Mrs.  Stuart,  I  believe  that 
when  it  is  diluted  by  the  presence  of  a  hundred  other  persons 
it  is  a  pleasure  too  tantalising  to  be  sought  without  careful 
deliberation."  Marchand  spoke  in  a  bantering  tone,  which 
carried  with  it  more  than  the  supeficial  meaning  of  his 
words. 

"  Remember  you  are  setting  aside  an  opportunity  to  be- 
come acquainted  with  Billy  Blikens,"  warned  Pakali. 

"  Couldn't  I  be  introduced  to  Billy  now  ?  "  suggested  the 
Kentuckian.  "  I  confess  I  am  curious  to  see  Gee-Haw's 
daughter,  who  is  likely  to  cause  me  much  trouble  in  the 
course  of  the  inevitable  litigation  which  must  accompany  the 
settlement  of  Mr.  Brown's  numerous  claims." 

At  that  moment  Gee- Haw  Blikens  drove  up  the  hill  a 
harnessed  team  of  oxen,  that  had  been  attracting  much  atten- 
tion in  Tishomingo,  which  now  counted  the  shiftless  Blikens 


AUTUMN  201 

among  its  residents.  Gee-Haw's  financial  resources  had  been 
steadily  reduced  since  the  birth  of  the  little  girl  upon  whom 
he  had  promised  to  bestow  the  banker's  name,  and  he  had 
lost  his  last  horses.  In  earlier  days  he  had  acquired  his 
nickname  because  his  laziness  enabled  him  to  drive  oxen  with 
inexhaustible  patience,  and,  when  he  needed  beasts  of  burden 
he  naturally  recalled  his  former  ability  in  managing  the  slow- 
going  animals.  He  had  a  set  of  harness  on  his  hands,  and 
the  idea  of  utilising  it  had  been  applied  with  moderate 
success. 

Marchand  could  not  help  smiling  when  he  saw  Gee-Haw 
pull  upon  the  spliced  lines  in  order  to  halt  a  badly  matched 
yoke  of  oxen.  From  a  rickety  old  wagon  the  squaw  man 
lifted  a  small  child,  barely  four  years  old.  The  little  girl 
wore  a  faded  sunbonnet  and  a  torn  gingham  frock.  Her  thin 
legs  were  encased  in  stockings  much  in  need  of  mending,  and 
her  whole  appearance  betokened  neglect. 

"  Come  here,  Billy,"  called  Pakali,  "  I  want  this  gentle- 
man to  see  you." 

Billy  hung  back.  Upon  her  wizened,  colourless  little  face 
was  a  look  of  shrewd  caution,  and  she  immediately  took 
refuge  behind  the  skirt  of  Pakali's  linen  gown. 

"  The  other  younguns  are  comin'  a-foot,"  Gee-Haw  an- 
nounced, as  he  stood  holding  his  team,  which  was  restless 
under  the  difficult  task  of  chewing  the  cud  while  horses'  bits 
were  adjusted  to  their  mouths. 

Marchand  nodded  to  the  squaw  man,  whom  he  despised, 
because  he  knew  that  Beaumont  and  Dixon  had  been  fre- 
quently called  upon  to  contribute  to  the  support  of  the 
Blikens  family.  Pakali,  who  had  taken  little  Billy's  hand, 
spoke  a  few  kindly  words  to  the  child's  father,  and  then, 
when  the  ox-team  had  been  started  down  the  hill,  she  led  the 
way  back  to  the  house,  where  Billy  and  Miko  were  turned 
over  to  their  teachers. 

While  the  children  were  gathering  for  the  morning  session, 


202  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

Pakali  and  Marchand  sat  upon  the  veranda.  The  brooding 
quiet  of  the  autumn  soothed  their  spirits.  For  several 
moments  Pakali  looked  out  upon  the  distant  hills.  In  the 
garden,  beds  of  dahlias  were  contrasting  their  flaming  colours 
with  the  green  of  the  smoothly  shaven  lawn ;  the  vines  and 
rose  bushes  that  covered  the  porch  were  crimson  and  yellow 
and  brown,  and,  as  the  fresh  morning  breeze  stirred  their 
foliage,  it  carried  away  with  it  the  scent  of  the  drying  leaves. 
As  Pakali's  gaze  was  withdrawn  from  the  hills,  her  eyes 
caught  the  panorama  presented  by  the  spreading  town  of 
Tishomingo,  and  she  exclaimed: 

"  Each  day  I  feel  more  and  more  an  alien  in  my  own  land. 
Behold  the  white  man's  city!  " 

"  Tishomingo  has  changed  so  much  that  I  forget  I  am  in 
the  Chickasaw  Nation  until  I  come  to  Moma  Binna," 
Marchand  answered.  "  You  know  I  am  often  ashamed  to 
think  that,  in  my  humble  way,  I  am  helping  this  metamor- 
phosis." 

"  My  father  reminds  me  almost  daily  that  we  must  be 
reconciled  to  what  is  inevitable,"  said  Pakali.  "  In  this 
march  of  civilisation  the  red  man  must  be  trampled  upon 
and  annihilated.  It  would  be  easier,  however,  to  take  a 
philosophical  view  of  the  situation  if  what  is  proudly  spoken 
of  as  Tishomingo's  boom  had  not  brought  so  many  unde- 
sirable persons  from  Wauchula." 

"  Gee-Haw  Blikens  and  his  family  are  not  exactly  the 
sort  of  settlers  that  an  ambitious  town  would  like  to  add 
to  its  population,"  averred  Marchand. 

Marchand  left  the  chair  in  which  he  had  been  sitting. 
Leaning  against  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  veranda,  he  looked 
down  upon  Pakali  and,  when  she  met  his  gaze,  she  felt  the 
delicate  understanding  Marchand  had  of  her  peculiar  posi- 
tion as  an  Indian  woman  among  the  white  usurpers  in 
her  native  village.  Always  reverential  toward  women,  the 
young  Kentuckian  gave  to  Pakali  the  homage  which  had  in 
it  tenderness  as  well  as  admiration. 


AUTUMN  203 

"  You  do  not  find  many  friends  among  the  white  women. 
Why  is  it?  "  he  asked. 

"  Most  of  the  newcomers  have  the  feeling  of  contempt  for 
the  Indians."  An  indignant  light  came  into  Pakali's  eyes. 
"  Even  when  they  realise  that  we  are  educated,  they  treat 
us  with  an  air  of  condescension  which  is  intolerable.  Some- 
times I  wish  I  could  be  as  sarcastic  as  Hattakowa,  of  whom 
they  are  all  afraid." 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Dixon  now?"  Marchand  made  the  in- 
quiry in  a  constrained  voice.  Since  the  day  when  he  had 
discovered  Hattakowa's  love  for  Pakali,  he  had  avoided  men- 
tioning the  Indian  who  had  once  called  him  "  friend." 

"  Hattakowa  has  been  away  on  another  of  his  long  hunt- 
ing expeditions.  He  is  coming  back  next  week  for  the 
opening  of  the  legislature." 

Pakali  spoke  of  Hattakowa  in  a  natural  way  that  put 
Marchand  at  his  ease.  After  a  brief  pause  she  went  on: 

"  You  know  our  legislature  will  meet  but  a  few  times 
more,  and  father  says  this  is  the  last  session  in  which  any 
important  business  can  be  transacted.  The  Non-Progressive 
party  intends  to  make  a  last  stand  against  the  land  syndi- 
cates." 

"  It  will  be  a  hopeless  fight,"  declared  Marchand.  "  I 
happen  to  know  that  certain  bills,  drafted  by  Elisha  Ford- 
ham,  the  former  congressman,  will  be  rushed  through  by 
the  Mattison  faction.  Even  if  your  father  and  Mr.  Dixon 
could  prevent  the  bills  from  receiving  the  official  acquiescence 
of  the  Chickasaw  Nation,  the  land-grabbing  would  go  on 
just  the  same." 

The  mention  of  Fordham's  name  brought  back  to  Pakali 
the  recollection  of  Stuart's  mission  to  the  Territory,  but  she 
had  learned  to  bear  the  pangs  of  memory  without  betraying 
any  sign  of  the  pain  she  suffered.  She  turned  her  face  away 
from  Marchand,  and,  carefully  measuring  her  words,  said: 

"  I  think  I  am  a  little  morbid  these  days,  but  I  am 
haunted  by  a  dread  of  impending  trouble.  It  is  impossible 


204  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

for  me  to  escape  from  the  feeling  that  I  am  waiting  for  some 
tragedy.  I  don't  know  why  I  tell  you  this,  but  you  are  the 
only  person  to  whom  I  can  speak.  It  is  a  relief  to  mention 
my  forebodings." 

"  I  cannot  see  how  anything  very  serious  could  possibly 
happen,"  answered  Marchand,  seating  himself  in  a  chair  near 
Pakali  and  leaning  forward  so  that  he  could  compel  her  to 
meet  his  steady  gaze.  "  There  is  no  danger  of  any  violent 
clash  such  as  the  one  which  took  place  when  Mr.  Dixon  was 
elected  governor.  The  battles  will  be  fought  with  words, 
not  firearms." 

"  My  fears  are  vague,"  Pakali  said  after  a  moment's 
silence.  "  They  have  never  taken  form,  but  it  is  as  if  I 
watched  for  a  great  sorrow." 

"  Often  our  worst  presentiments  precede  i.jme  period  of 
real  happiness,"  Marchand  replied.  "  You  will  understand 
what  I  mean,  however,  if  I  tell  you  that  I  am  selfish  enough 
to  be  almost  glad  because  your  mental  depression  has  given 
me  the  chance  to  be  your  confidant,  and  now  I  mean  to  exact 
a  promise  on  the  strength  of  this  evidence  of  friendship. 
If  any  severe  trial  comes  to  you,  assure  me  that  you  will  turn 
to  me  as  to  one  who  is  desirous  of  giving  you  aid  and  sym- 
pathy." 

Pakali  would  have  made  an  evasive  answer,  but  he  took 
her  hand  in  both  of  his  while  he  added: 

"  I  mean  that  I  want  to  be  the  person  upon  whom  you 
will  depend  in  time  of  trouble." 

"  You  have  proved  yourself  so  much  my  friend  that  I  shall 
not  hesitate  to  exact  from  you  whatever  service  I  may  need," 
Pakali  answered  slowly. 

,  Their  eyes  met  for  a  moment,  the  man  striving  to  read 
some  sign  to  give  him  hope  of  a  growing  faith  and  an  awak- 
ening passion  in  the  woman's  heart,  but  he  saw  only  the 
shadows  that  darkened  her  spirit.  Then  Marchand  remem- 
bered that  it  was  near  train  time,  and  he  went  away. 


CHAPTER    XXVI 
HATTAKOWA   AT   MOMA  BINNA 

ON  the  eve  of  the  assembling  of  the  Chickasaw  legislature,  a 
fortnight  later,  Hattakowa  and  his  mother  dined  at  Moma 
Binna.  Mrs.  Dixon  had  arranged  to  occupy,  during  the 
legislative  session,  a  cottage  owned  by  Hattakowa,  and,  while 
the  servants  were  making  it  ready,  Pakali  insisted  that  the 
first  day  should  be  passed  in  the  house  on  the  hill.  Mrs. 
Dixon  and  Pakali  had  had  a  long  talk  before  the  arrival  of 
Hattakowa,  who  found  them  and  Beaumont  waiting  on  the 
veranda.  Miko,  who  had  made  many  excursions  to  the  foot 
of  the  hill,  triumphantly  conducted  Hattakowa  along  the 
broad  path  from  the  ledge.  As  Pakali  watched  them  coming 
she  saw  that  Hattakowa's  appearance  had  altered  greatly 
since  the  days  when  he  came  often  to  Moma  Binna.  His 
tall,  well-knit  figure  had  retained  its  fine  proportions  and  he 
walked  with  his  youthful  elasticity  of  step ;  he  had  the  swing- 
ing gait  of  the  Indian.  It  was  his  face  that  told  the  story  of 
years  in  which  he  had  been  a  prey  to  warring  impulses.  The 
outline  of  cheek  and  chin  had  become  distinctly  racial,  and 
his  eyes  appeared  to  be  deeper  set  so  that  the  sockets  were 
strongly  marked.  As  he  uncovered  his  head  his  glossy  black 
hair  fell  upon  a  forehead  heavily  lined.  Hattakowa  had  been 
a  handsome  youth;  he  was  now  a  man  to  whom  had  been 
given  a  rare  distinction  of  appearance.  Passions,  not  always 
subdued,  had  put  their  impress  upon  his  features,  and  yet  his 
experiences  had  left  him  with  an  added  strength.  When  he 
touched  her  hand  Pakali  knew  that  Hattakowa  had  built 
between  them  a  barrier  of  vagrant  acts  and  thoughts  which 
must  forever  be  hidden  in  his  memory. 

"  It  seems  like  old  times  to  have  you  back  with  us,  Hatta- 

205 


206  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

kowa,"  Beaumont  declared  heartily,  when  they  were  seated 
at  the  table. 

"  We  thought  you  were  going  to  desert  the  Territory," 
Pakali  said,  and  Miko  supplemented  in  his  childish  treble: 

"  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun  has  stayed  away  from 
our  house  a  long  time." 

"  How  many  moons  has  it  been,  Miko?  "  questioned 
Hattakowa. 

But  the  child  shook  his  head  and  replied: 

"  Miko  did  not  count  the  moons." 

"  My  grandson  has  not  forgotten  how  to  adapt  himself 
to  the  Indian  forms  of  speech,  even  though  you  have  neg- 
lected the  training  of  our  young  brave,"  remarked  Beau- 
mont. 

"  The  Little  Chieftain  and  I  will  resume  our  nature 
studies  to-morrow,"  Hattakowa  announced,  as  he  placed  his 
hand  upon  the  boy's  shoulder.  "  We  have  already  made  ar- 
rangements for  a  fishing  trip.  We  shall  spend  the  day  luring 
the  biggest  catches  from  the  waters  of  the  Washita." 

"  And  I  may  take  the  rod  and  reel  from  my  bedroom, 
mayn't  I?"  asked  Miko. 

Pakali,  remembering  the  days  when  Stuart  had  used  the 
fishing  tackle,  gave  a  half-articulate  consent,  and  her  hand 
trembled  as  she  served  the  "  Tom  Fuller  "  from  one  of  the 
silver  dishes.  Hattakowa  gave  no  indication  that  he  under- 
stood about  the  rod  and  reel.  He  persistently  avoided 
Pakali's  glance;  he  seldom  addressed  her.  After  dinner  he 
and  Miko  stole  away,  and  it  was  not  until  the  shadows  had 
begun  to  fall  upon  the  hills  that  they  returned.  Beaumont 
had  driven  Mrs.  Dixon  down  to  her  cottage,  so  Hattakowa 
found  Pakali  sitting  alone  upon  the  veranda  steps.  Long 
ago,  on  the  night  when  he  had  given  her  the  first  kiss,  she 
had  leaned  back  against  the  vine-covered  pillar  in  just  the 
same  position  that  she  had  taken  unconsciously  this  autumn 
afternoon.  In  memory  again  he  beheld  the  girlish  face.  He 


HATTAKOWA   AT    MOMA   BINNA       207 

recalled  her  joyous  voice,  he  heard  her  laugh,  and  he  saw  in 
her  eyes  the  expectant  look  of  dawning  womanhood.  Now 
the  sweet  face  was  matured  by  maternity  and  moulded  by  a 
sorrow  which  had  reshaped  the  rounded  contours  of  youth. 
The  fierce  rebellion  that  surged  through  his  heart  whenever 
he  thought  of  Pakali's  wrongs  sent  the  blood  to  his  head. 
As  he  paused,  while  he  gained  control  of  himself,  he  realised 
that  the  years  had  intensified  his  longing  for  vengeance.  He 
had  tried  protracted  absences,  but  when  he  returned  to  his 
Star  Woman  it  became  apparent  to  him  that  time  had  merely 
stored  in  him  the  accumulated  resentment  he  could  not  con- 
quer. 

"  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun  took  me  for  such  a  long 
walk  that  I  wore  out  my  shoe,"  said  Miko,  running  to  his 
mother  to  display  the  broken  sole  of  a  much-scuffed  shoe. 
The  boy's  eyes  were  sparkling  and  his  face  was  flushed. 

"  I  see  you  have  been  enjoying  yourself,"  Pakali  answered, 
returning  the  hug  which  her  son  gave  her.  Miko  went  into 
the  house  to  find  a  pair  of  slippers,  and,  for  the  first  time  in 
many  months,  Hattakowa  and  Pakali  met  under  circum- 
stances that  made  it  impossible  to  avoid  a  personal  conversa- 
tion. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  have  been  doing  this  half  year  or 
more  ?  "  It  was  Pakali  who  spoke  first.  With  a  woman's 
instinct  she  sought  to  put  her  kinsman  at  ease. 

"  I  have  been  trying  to  forget  that  I  am  an  Indian  and 
that  Aiahnichih-Choyoh  is  forever  beyond  my  reach,"  said 
Hattakowa.  "  Although  I  have  been  much  in  the  white 
man's  cities  I  cannot  learn  to  pretend,  and  so,  when  I  come 
back  to  you,  I  must  tell  you  that  nowhere  in  my  wanderings 
could  I  find  the  lotus  fields." 

"  We  must  live  in  the  present  and  in  the  future,"  Pakali 
answered.  "  I  often  feel  grateful  to  Heaven  because  the 
sorrows  that  I  have  known  are  behind  me.  I  cannot  have 
just  the  same  griefs  again." 


208  THE   MAN    OF    YESTERDAY 

"  When  we  live  in  the  future  we  must  have  some  hope." 
Hattakowa,  leaning  forward,  as  he  sat  upon  the  step  beside 
her,  rested  his  face  upon  his  hand,  and,  as  if  he  were  stating 
a  natural  condition  of  mind,  he  went  on:  "When  I  am 
far  away,  still  you  draw  my  thoughts  to  you.  Often  I  have 
said  to  myself,  '  Choctah  siah,'  and  then  I  have  gone  forth 
to  the  hunt.  Yet  in  field  and  forest  I  saw  always  my  Star 
Woman.  Then,  yielding  to  the  knowledge  that  I  have  the 
white  man's  tendencies  mingled  with  the  impulses  of  the 
savage,  I  have  tried  the  dissipations  of  civilisation.  I  have 
made  myself  unworthy  to  come  into  your  presence.  But 
stronger  than  all  the  distractions  which  cities  offer  is  my 
craving  for  your  presence." 

Pakali's  face  paled  as  she  listened.  With  her  hands 
tightly  clasped  in  her  lap  she  waited  until  Hattakowa  had 
revealed  all  the  tumult  of  his  heart,  and  when  he  had  ceased 
to  speak  she  could  not  find  words  with  which  to  answer  him. 
Side  by  side  they  sat  silent  while  the  hills  turned  purple  in 
the  fading  light.  Tears  gathered  in  Pakali's  eyes,  and 
through  a  mist  she  saw  the  glory  of  the  dying  day.  The 
consciousness  that  somehow  all  her  life  was  wrong  pressed 
in  upon  her.  The  love  she  had  wanted  had  been  taken  from 
her,  and  a  love  to  which  she  could  not  open  her  heart  en- 
compassed her.  Presently  she  said : 

"  Oh,  what  can  I  tell  you  except  that  time  has  made  no 
changes  which  can  affect  you  and  me!  Dear  Hattakowa, 
I  have  been  thinking  that  I  was  attaining  a  serenity  which 
might  make  middle  age  a  period  of  contentment,  but  you  will 
not  let  me  enjoy  even  a  pretence  of  peace." 

Hattakowa  put  out  his  left  hand,  the  hand  upon  which 
gleamed  the  ruby,  and,  touching  her  reverently,  compelled 
her  to  look  at  him. 

"  You  are  right  to  rebuke  me,"  he  said.  "  My  savage 
instinct  makes  me  want  you  to  suffer  with  me,  even  though 
my  love  forbids  me  to  hurt  you.  Pakali,  if  you  knew  how 


HATTAKOWA   AT    MOMA   BINNA       209 

many  fierce  battles  have  been  fought  within  me,  you  would 
forgive  me  for  so  often  importuning  you  in  the  hope  that 
you  may  answer  the  call  of  my  heart.  You  women  learn 
submission,  but  I  know  only  rebellion." 

Pakali  rose  to  her  feet,  and,  in  an  agony  of  emotion,  looked 
up  at  Hattakowa,  who  came  near  her.  Before  either  could 
speak  Miko  claimed  attention.  Running  down  the  steps  he 
paused  to  glance  from  his  mother  to  her  kinsman.  Even  to 
his  childish  mind  it  was  apparent  that  their  conversation  had 
touched  the  deeps  of  feeling. 

"  Why  has  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun  made  my 
mother  sad  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  We  talked  of  the  sad  things  of  life,"  Pakali  answered, 
drawing  her  son  to  her  and  pressing  his  head  against 
her  breast.  Miko  gently  freed  himself  so  that  he  could 
stand  between  his  mother  and  Hattakowa  while  he  de- 
manded : 

"  Why  do  you  not  tell  my  mother  pretty  stories  and  amuse 
her  as  you  do  me,  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun?  " 

"  We  are  too  old  to  enjoy  pretty  stories,  Little  Chieftain," 
replied  Hattakowa,  "  for  even  when  we  tell  them  to  one 
another  they  seem  sad." 

'  That  is  queer,"  declared  Miko,  shaking  his  head. 
"  When  you  tell  me  of  famous  chieftains  like  Apushmatahah, 
who  fought  great  battles,  and  of  handsome  braves  like  Ossika, 
who  won  the  fairest  maiden  in  the  tribe,  I  do  not  feel  like 
crying." 

"  Yet  every  pleasant  tale  has  a  sorrowful  side."  Hatta- 
kowa folded  his  arms  over  his  deep  chest,  and,  looking  over 
Miko's  head  at  Pakali,  he  said,  slowly: 

"  You  are  not  old  enough  to  understand  that  every  victory 
means  death  to  the  vanquished;  that  every  happy  wooing 
means  disappointment  for  the  discarded.  Your  mother  and 
I  have  been  speaking  of  one  who  loved  a  Star  Woman  whom 
he  could  never  reach." 


210  THE   MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

"  He  was  a  foolish  brave,"  commented  Miko.  "  I  shall 
love  an  earth  woman." 

Silently  they  stood  there  for  a  moment  in  the  fading  light, 
then  Hattakowa,  touching  Miko  upon  the  shoulder,  said: 

"  Come,  walk  down  the  hill  with  me." 

Miko  hesitated. 

"  I  must  not  leave  my  mother  when  she  is  sad,"  he  de- 
murred, but  Pakali  bade  him  accompany  The  Man  Looking 
for  the  Sun. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

STUART  RETURNS  TO  THE  TERRITORY 

HATTAKOWA  and  Miko  were  returning  from  the  promised 
fishing  trip  when  they  stopped  at  the  railway  station.  A 
negro  servant  was  driving  the  horse  attached  to  the  light 
spring  wagon  in  which  they  had  ridden  to  the  Washita  River. 
It  happened  that  the  train  from  Ardmore  arrived  while 
Hattakowa  was  transacting  some  business  with  the  station 
agent.  The  brief  twilight  of  early  autumn  had  fallen,  and, 
boylike,  Miko  jumped  from  the  wagon  in  order  that  he 
might  have  a  closer  view  of  the  passengers.  Several  travel- 
ling men  had  alighted  upon  the  platform,  when  a  tall,  broad- 
shouldered  man,  inclined  to  stoutness,  stepped  from  the  last 
car.  A  brakeman  put  off  three  or  four  large  leather 
bags  and  received  a  tip.  Then  the  stranger,  who  wore 
glasses,  looked  about  for  a  drayman.  The  Tishomingo  hotel 
did  not  send  its  omnibus  to  meet  the  evening  train,  and 
Hattakowa's  spring  wagon  was  the  only  vehicle  at  the 
platform. 

"Is  that  a  baggage  wagon?"  the  stranger  inquired  of 
Miko,  who  had  come  near  to  look  at  the  luggage,  which  had 
a  distinction  not  characteristic  of  most  of  the  impedimenta 
carried  by  Indian  Territory  travellers.  Miko  removed  the 
broad-brimmed  hat  that  had  been  set  on  the  back  of  his  head, 
and  answered: 

"  No,  it  is  our  spring  wagon,  which  we  took  out  this 
morning  when  we  went  fishing." 

The  stranger  walked  down  the  platform,  in  a  vain  search 
for  a  cab,  and  then  came  back  to  where  Miko  was  standing. 

"  How  far  is  the  hotel  from  here  ?  "  he  asked. 

211 


212  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

"  Quite  a  walk,"  Miko  replied.  "  If  you  wouldn't  mind 
riding  with  the  fish,  we  could  take  you  with  us." 

It  was  still  the  custom  at  Moma  Binna  to  greet  chance 
visitors  with  cordiality,  and  Miko's  grandfather  had  often 
given  strangers  a  "  lift,"  so  that  the  offer  was  quite  natural 
to  the  boy.  The  man  looked  at  the  child,  whose  corduroy 
clothes  had  at  first  given  the  impression  that  he  was  the 
ordinary  village  lad  waiting  for  passing  trains.  The  traveller 
saw  a  face  of  such  unusual  beauty  and  refinement  that  he 
asked: 

"  What  is  your  name?  " 

"  Miko,"  was  the  brief  reply,  as  the  child  lifted  one  of 
the  bags.  He  called  the  servant  to  carry  the  others  and  the 
stranger  was  soon  made  comfortable  on  the  back  seat  of  the 
wagon.  Several  minutes  elapsed.  Still  Hattakowa  was 
detained.  The  stranger  took  off  his  stiff  hat,  for  the  evening 
was  warm.  He  had  a  fair  complexion,  which  showed  the 
flush  of  heat,  and  his  light  hair,  grown  thin  at  the  temples, 
was  parted  near  the  middle.  He  was  more  than  com- 
monly good-looking,  and  his  dress  told  that  he  was  a  man 
of  fashion.  He  had  a  pleasant  manner,  which  won  the  con- 
fidence of  Miko,  who  was  usually  reticent. 

"  Do  you  live  here  in  Tishomingo?  "  asked  the  stranger. 
The  boy  answered  that  he  did,  adding  that  he  thought  it 
was  the  best  place  in  all  the  world. 

"  You  haven't  seen  the  whole  world,"  suggested  the 
traveller. 

"  I  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  it,"  declared  Miko,  and  the 
statement  was  corroborated  by  the  negro  servant,  who  ex- 
plained: "  He's  been  to  Europe  and  back  again,  sah." 

"  Oh."  The  stranger  smiled.  "  At  first  I  thought  you 
were  an  Indian,"  he  said,  half  apologetically. 

Miko's  eyes  flashed. 

"  I  am  an  Indian,"  he  declared,  proudly.  "  I'm  a  Chick- 
asaw." 


STUART   RETURNS  213 

Before  Miko  had  a  chance  to  go  into  his  family  history, 
Hattakowa  came  to  the  wagon. 

"  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun,  this  is  a  gentleman  who 
came  on  the  train  and  he  couldn't  find  anybody  to  take  him 
to  the  hotel,  so  I  asked  him  to  ride  with  us,"  said  Miko, 
turning  on  his  knees  in  the  seat  and  leaning  over  the  back. 

The  stranger  bowed,  and  the  two  men  stared  at  each 
other  in  astonishment.  The  look  of  surprise  on  the  Indian's 
face  changed  to  one  of  such  contempt  and  hatred  that  the 
traveller  could  not  conceal  his  embarrassment.  "  I  gladly 
accepted  the  child's  offer,"  he  stammered,  "  because  I  did  not 
wish  to  leave  my  luggage  in  the  station." 

Hattakowa  bade  the  servant  drive  quickly,  and,  taking*  his 
place  beside  the  stranger,  he  said,  without  so  much  as  a  pre- 
liminary word  of  greeting: 

"  How  dared  you  come  back  to  the  Territory?  " 

"  I  came  on  business."  The  stranger  turned  himself  in 
the  seat  in  order  to  face  Hattakowa.  "  Stop  your  horses," 
he  said  with  an  assumption  of  resentment  at  the  curt  ques- 
tion. "  I  desire  to  walk  to  the  hotel." 

"  You  have  no  choice  but  to  ride  now."  Hattakowa  spoke 
in  a  low  tone  so  that  Miko,  who  had  been  jolted  off  his 
knees,  could  not  hear  what  was  said.  "  I  have  the  right  to 
ask  what  sort  of  business  has  brought  you  to  Tishomingo. 
I  may  compel  you  to  go  away  on  the  next  train." 

"  Aren't  you  rather  impetuous,  Mr.  Dixon  ?  "  The 
speaker  drew  off  his  gloves  with  elaborate  carelessness.  "  I 
am  not  aware  that  you  have  any  right  to  inquire  into  my 
affairs." 

"  I  shall  have  no  difficulty  in  making  you  recognise  my 
right,  Mr.  Stuart,"  returned  Hattakowa.  "  Before  I  per- 
mit you  to  get  down  at  the  hotel  I  shall  have  your  word  that 
you  do  not  intend  to  trouble  my  kinswoman.  I  must  know 
that  your  business  has  nothing  to  do  with  anyone  at  Moma 
Binna." 


2i4  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

"  Were  you  asking  the  gentleman  to  come  to  Moma 
Binna?  "  inquired  Miko,  pulling  himself  upon  his  knees 
again  and  casting  a  friendly  glance  at  the  stranger.  "  My 
mother  will  be  glad  to  see  you." 

In  an  instant  Stuart's  face  took  on  a  pallor  of  a  sudden 
fear.  He  gazed  at  the  boy  as  if  he  sought  to  recognise  some 
feature,  but  he  quickly  put  away  what  was  an  intuitive  flash 
of  knowledge.  The  perspiration  stood  out  upon  his  fore- 
head. The  words  he  would  have  said  choked  him. 

"  Turn  around  in  your  seat."  Hattakowa  gave  the  com- 
mand sternly  to  Miko,  who  obeyed  with  reluctance. 

"  The  boy  is  your  son,  I  presume,"  Arnold  Stuart  said, 
when  he  could  control  his  voice.  The  years  had  given  him 
much  experience  in  managing  men.  He  had  become  a  lawyer 
whose  fame  hung  upon  his  readiness  of  resource,  his  easy 
adaptation  of  circumstances  to  his  own  will. 

The  wagon  rattled  around  a  turn  in  the  road,  and  Hatta- 
kowa waited  to  answer  until  his  voice  could  be  heard  with 
a  distinctness  not  to  be  misunderstood. 

"  Miko  is  the  son  of  Lenore  Beaumont,  who  was  married 
ten  years  ago  to  a  treacherous,  cowardly  white  man." 

Stuart  chose  to  ignore  the  insult,  because  he  hoped  to 
escape  from  a  predicament  more  awkward  than  any  he  had 
feared  when  he  first  contemplated  a  trip  to  the  Terri- 
tory. 

In  a  few  moments  since  the  question  of  Miko's  parentage 
had  come  up  the  white  man's  mind  had  tried  to  grasp  the 
logic  of  the  situation.  Stuart  had  not  lost  his  old  habit  of 
rejecting  unpleasant  suggestions,  and,  even  if  his  nature  had 
not  been  evasive,  wherever  disagreeable  facts  were  concerned, 
the  idea  that  Miko  might  be  his  own  child  seemed  too  absurd 
for  consideration.  The  boy  was  one  of  whom  any  man 
might  be  proud.  This  acknowledgment  came  to  him  as 
he  turned  to  Hattakowa  with  the  desire  to  retaliate  for  the 
Indian's  studied  affront. 


STUART   RETURNS  215 

"  You  have  avoided  a  direct  answer,"  he  said,  with  an 
assumption  of  suavity,  "  but  it  is  evident  that  you  mean  me 
to  understand  that  you  are  not  the  father  of  the  boy  you 
call  Miko.  He  is  very  much  of  an  Indian,  and  I  still  see  a 
strong  resemblance  to  you." 

Hattakowa  raised  his  hand  as  if  he  would  have  struck  the 
white  man,  but  he  controlled  himself  and  with  such  fierce 
hatred  in  his  face  that  Stuart  involuntarily  shrank  from  him, 
he  spoke  as  if  he  were  pronouncing  sentence: 

"  I  shall  claim  from  you  blood  vengeance  for  this  insult 
to  my  kinswoman.  You  have  forgotten  that  the  Chickasaws 
protect  the  good  name  of  their  women." 

Arnold  Stuart  had  never  been  a  coward.  Indeed,  his 
careless  nature  had  given  him  a  recklessness  helpful  to  him, 
inasmuch  as  it  often  served  as  a  wise  audacity.  He  hastened 
to  apologise  now,  not  so  much  because  he  feared  Hattakowa's 
threat,  as  because  he  knew  that  he  had  been  a  craven  to  utter 
an  insinuation  against  the  woman  who  had  given  him  her 
love  and  her  life. 

"  I  spoke  at  random,"  he  declared.  "  Surely  you  know 
that  I  would  not  cast  any  reflection  upon " 

"  The  woman  who  is  your  wife."  Hattakowa  completed 
the  sentence,  speaking  the  words  between  closed  teeth.  "  We 
shall  take  this  subject  up  later,"  he  continued.  "  Just  now  I 
desire  you  to  pledge  yourself  to  attend  strictly  to  whatever 
business  gave  you  an  excuse  for  returning  to  the  Territory. 
You  must  give  me  your  word  that  you  will  not  try  to  see 
Miko's  mother." 

The  wagon  had  stopped  at  the  hotel.  In  a  conciliatory 
tone,  Stuart  said : 

"  You  have  the  word  of  a  gentleman."  He  stepped  out 
upon  the  big  stone  on  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk.  After  a 
second  of  uncertainty  he  leaned  over  the  negro's  knees  to 
touch  Miko's  hand.  "  Good-night,  little  man,"  he  said, 
looking  into  the  child's  face. 


2i6  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

Father  and  son  gazed  at  each  other  for  a  moment.  Some 
stirring  of  instinct  made  each  recognise  dormant  sympathies 
in  the  other. 

"  Good-night,"  returned  Miko.  "  I  hope  you  will  have 
a  pleasant  visit  in  Tishomingo." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 
MIKO   AND   HIS   NEW   FRIEND 

AFTER  leaving  Stuart  at  the  hotel,  Hattakowa  took  Miko  to 
Moma  Binna,  where  they  found  Pakali  watching  rather 
anxiously  for  them. 

"  You  are  late,  Miko,"  said  the  child's  mother.  "  I  try 
to  be  a  true  squaw  when  my  boy  goes  forth  to  hunt  or  to 
fish,  but  I  find  I  am  beset  by  a  white  woman's  apprehen- 
sions." 

Hattakowa  forced  himself  to  make  a  light  answer. 

"  We  would  have  been  here  sooner  if  we  had  not  taken  a 
stranger  to  the  hotel,"  Miko  explained.  "  I  found  him  at 
the  station,  and  I  think  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun 
knew  him,  for  they  talked  a  great  deal." 

"Who  was  it?" 

Hattakowa  had  declined  to  go  into  the  house,  and  he  was 
standing  beside  the  wagon,  from  which  a  servant  was  un- 
loading the  fish.  He  pretended  to  be  busy  disentangling 
Miko's  line,  which  had  not  been  wound  upon  the  reel. 
Pakali  repeated  her  question,  and  he  answered,  carelessly: 

"  A  traveller  from  the  States."  Hattakowa  sent  the 
wagon  away  and  walked  down  the  hill.  Crossing  the  bridge, 
he  turned  his  steps  away  from  the  town.  He  passed  several 
hours  alone  in  the  darkness.  Before  consulting  with  Beau- 
mont, he  desired  to  think  out  what  would  be  the  most  merci- 
ful course  of  action,  so  far  as  Pakali  was  concerned.  If  it 
were  possible  to  prevent  her  from  knowing  that  Stuart  was 
in  Tishomingo,  she  would  be  spared  poignant  suffering 
which  might  not  be  less  intense  than  the  agonies  she  endured 
when  she  first  realised  that  her  husband  had  deserted  her. 
But  the  question  was  how  to  protect  her  from  the  knowledge 

217 


218  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

of  the  white  man's  presence  in  the  Territory.  Even  though 
Stuart  kept  his  promise  not  to  seek  her,  she  might  encounter 
him  in  her  morning  walks.  She  often  went  to  the  hotel  to 
visit  friends,  and  chance  would  be  likely  to  bring  about  some 
painful  meeting.  Hattakowa  could  not  think  out  a  plan  of 
action  because  he  could  not  sustain  any  train  of  thought 
which  was  not  interrupted  by  the  overpowering  idea  that  fate 
had  given  him  the  opportunity  to  punish  Stuart.  He  was 
fair  enough  to  know  that  the  white  man's  insult,  spoken  at 
random,  touched  him  the  deeper  because  it  suggested  that  his 
heart's  desire  had  been  gratified  in  the  possession  of  his  Star 
Woman  and  the  fatherhood  of  her  son.  He  knew  that 
Stuart  had  not  felt  the  full  significance  of  the  affront,  but 
such  an  excuse  did  not  absolve  the  offender  from  the  obliga- 
tion to  pay  the  penalty. 

It  was  midnight  when  Hattakowa  awoke  his  mother  to 
ask  her  advice. 

"  Oh,  my  poor  girl,  my  poor  girl !  "  cried  Mrs.  Dixon. 
"  I  have  always  known  that  Miko's  father  would  bring 
more  trouble  to  her.  For  a  month  I  have  read  warning 
signs.  Only  last  week  a  cricket  fled  from  the  hearthstone  at 
Moma  Binna,  and  a  whip-poor-will  has  lingered  long  in  the 
old  ash  tree." 

"  We  haven't  time  to  talk  of  anything  but  some  plan  to 
prevent  Pakali  from  enduring  fresh  sorrow,"  Hattakowa 
answered,  gently,  and  his  mother,  sitting  up  in  bed  with 
feet  crossed  and  grizzled  head  resting  upon  her  bony  arms, 
rocked  herself  to  and  fro  while  she  tried  to  control  her 
troubled  thoughts. 

"  Perhaps  I  could  take  Pakali  to  Ardmore,"  she  suggested. 
"  Several  new  colonies  of  Mississippi  Chickasaws  and  Choc- 
taws  are  said  to  be  starving  there,  and  I  can  persuade  her  to 
make  the  trip  if  it  is  represented  as  an  errand  of  mercy." 

"  She  must  go  to-morrow  morning,"  Hattakowa  declared. 
"  I  shall  see  her  father  before  breakfast,  and  you  must  per- 


MIKO   AND    HIS    NEW    FRIEND          219 

suade  her  that  delay  is  cruel  to  the  duped  Indians  who  have 
just  been  imported  into  the  Territory." 

Mrs.  Dixon  had  little  trouble  in  luring  Pakali  to  Ardmore, 
and,  when  they  found  how  pitiable  was  the  state  of  the  old 
men,  the  women,  and  children  among  the  helpless  colonists, 
no  excuses  were  needed  to  convince  Pakali  that  she  must 
stay  until  conditions  were  improved.  The  Indians  had  been 
brought  in  carload  lots  from  Mississippi.  The  latest  ar- 
rivals were  quartered  in  a  vacant  store  building  on  the  main 
street  of  Ardmore.  This  building  had  once  represented 
certain  commercial  ambitions  of  the  owner.  It  had  an  im- 
posing stone  front,  and  space  for  two  stores  was  divided  off 
on  the  ground  floor.  A  stairway  went  up  in  the  middle  of 
the  building,  and  in  half  a  dozen  rooms  more  than  one 
hundred  Indians  were  quartered.  Not  so  much  as  a  bed  or 
a  chair  was  provided  for  the  convenience  of  the  half-civilised 
men  and  women,  who  dwelt  in  the  filthy  rooms  until  camping 
places  could  be  prepared  for  them.  The  most  meagre  rations 
of  corn  meal  and  bacon  were  distributed  each  day. 

These  Mississippi  Chickasaws  and  Choctaws  were  exam- 
ples of  racial  deterioration.  They  had  been  contaminated 
by  contact  with  low  whites ;  they  were  ignorant,  diseased  and 
unclean.  A  flush  of  shame  dyed  Pakali's  cheeks  as  she 
greeted  the  Indians  who  belonged  to  her  own  Nation.  Their 
ancestors  had  abandoned  all  aboriginal  industries  and  they 
had  not  learned  the  white  man's  trades.  They  wore  ragged 
clothing  such  as  the  negroes  of  Moma  Binna  would  have 
scorned.  The  younger  women  passed  their  days  in  idleness 
while  their  children  were  neglected.  Babes,  infested  with 
vermin,  crawled  in  the  streets,  and  half-naked  boys  played 
ball  in  a  vacant  lot.  Some  of  these  Indians  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  be  among  those  whose  names  had  been  stricken 
from  the  rolls  because  they  were  not  legally  entitled  to  the 
lands  claimed  for  them  by  the  syndicates.  These  were  in  a 
pitiable  plight  of  poverty,  for,  as  soon  as  they  were  declared 


220  THE    MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

ineligible  to  citizenship,  their  rations  had  been  withdrawn. 
With  Ogden  Maury's  assistance,  Pakali  compelled  the  syn- 
dicate's agent  to  remove  most  of  the  Indians  from  the  build- 
ing in  which  they  were  herded  as  if  they  were  cattle.  Those 
who  had  ceased  to  be  of  interest  to  the  \vhite  land-grabbers 
were  cared  for  temporarily. 

While  Pakali  was  busy  in  Ardmore,  Miko  remained  in 
Moma  Binna,  where  one  of  the  teachers  and  Mammy  'Liza 
took  care  of  him. 

Pennington  Creek  always  had  had  a  fascination  for  the 
child,  and  often  he  went  to  play  beside  the  clear  waters.  At 
first  he  had  been  forbidden  to  climb  upon  the  big  rocks,  or 
to  wade  in  the  alluring  pool  that  felt  but  lightly  the  force 
of  the  waters;  but,  by  and  by,  Pakali  had  come  to  trust  his 
Indian  instinct,  which  combined  childish  daring  with  the 
caution  of  the  natural  woodsman.  Although  she  had  never 
permitted  herself  to  go  with  the  boy  to  the  place,  she  listened 
often  to  what  he  said  about  making  whistles  of  the  twigs 
from  the  overhanging  willows,  and  about  floating  the  dog- 
wood blossoms  down  the  stream. 

One  warm  afternoon,  when  Miko  was  sailing  a  raft  in 
the  pool,  the  stranger  whom  the  child  had  met  at  the  railway 
station  picked  his  way  over  the  stones  and  slowly  descended 
the  steep  bank  of  the  creek.  The  man  paused  when  he  saw 
the  boy,  but,  after  a  moment  of  indecision,  went  down  to 
the  water's  edge.  Miko  guided  his  raft  into  a  harbour  be- 
neath the  big  boulder.  Then  he  looked  up. 

"  How  did  you  find  this  place  ?  "  he  asked,  without  wast- 
ing words  in  any  formal  salutation. 

"  I — I "  the  man  hesitated ;  "  I  thought  it  would  be 

cool  down  here  by  the  creek,"  he  answered. 

'  There's  a  good  seat  up  on  this  big  rock,"  Miko  said, 
hospitably,  wading  toward  his  newfound  friend.  "  I  will 
take  your  hand,  sir,  and  steady  you  if  you  want  to  cross  on 
the  stones." 


Stuart  studied  the  child's  face  and  forgot  to  make  any 
reply,  but  Miko  took  for  granted  the  acceptance  of  the  offer 
to  act  as  guide.  Putting  his  damp,  brown  fingers  into  the 
stranger's  unresisting  hand,  he  led  the  way  to  the  boulder 
against  which  the  tall  man  leaned  his  heavy  body,  while  he 
looked  down  upon  his  companion.  Miko  had  his  mother's 
eyes,  and,  when  he  glanced  up  at  the  face  of  the  man,  its 
florid  hue  grew  pale. 

"  Does  your  mother  know  you  come  here  to  play?  "  the 
stranger  asked. 

Miko  gave  an  affirmative  nod. 

"  Does  she  ever  come  here  with  you?  " 

"  We  often  walk  by  Pennington  Creek,"  the  child  replied, 
"  but  she  will  not  let  me  bring  her  here." 

"  Where  is  your  mother?  "  The  question  was  asked  in- 
voluntarily and  it  had  to  be  repeated,  inasmuch  as  Miko 
had  begun  to  chase  a  pollywog.  It  required  an  extensive 
amount  of  cross-examination  to  bring  out  the  fact  that  Pakali 
had  gone  to  Ardmore  to  help  the  Indians,  who  were  starving 
because  wicked  white  men  had  been  unkind  to  them.  The 
pollywog  escaped  and  Miko  made  a  brief  excursion  a  few 
yards  down  the  creek. 

When  he  was  left  alone  Arnold  Stuart  scanned  the  shady 
nook  that  Pakali  had  called  her  place  of  peace.  Here  Pen- 
nington Creek  had  taken  a  broader  sweep  and  worn  away  a 
wider  course.  Some  of  the  willows  had  been  cut,  and  a  new 
bridge  had  been  thrown  across  the  channel. 

On  the  face  of  the  bank  near  the  boulder  Stuart  recognised 
the  ledge  where  Pakali  had  placed  the  sticks  marking  the 
days  of  his  former  sojourning  in  Tishomingo.  A  flood  of 
memories  swept  over  him  even  as  the  waters  poured  across 
a  fallen  log  near  the  place  where  he  stood.  For  a  moment 
Pakali  in  her  girlish  charm  was  near  him,  breaking  into  bits 
the  branches  of  dogwood  and  pointing  out  the  significance  of 
the  flowers  upon  them. 


'222  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

The  ledge  was  filled  in  with  stones,  tightly  wedged  to- 
gether. He  would  have  obeyed  an  impulse  to  open  the 
crevice,  but,  although  he  was  a  man  who  had  outlived  the 
romance  of  his  youth,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  desecrate 
what  had  become  a  shrine  commemorative  of  lost  love  and 
ruined  faith.  With  half  shut  eyes  he  listened  to  the  music  of 
the  waters;  he  heard  again  above  the  sound  of  the  creek  the 
voice  of  Pakali  telling  him  that,  according  to  the  old  Indian 
custom,  she  arranged  a  great  number  of  sticks  to  show  that 
he  would  be  welcome  to  remain  in  her  village  many  days. 

Stuart  had  grown  accustomed  to  look  upon  his  love  for 
Pakali  and  his  marriage  to  her  as  a  piece  of  youthful  folly. 
In  ten  years  he  had  lived  much  and  even  his  most  vivid  im- 
pressions connected  with  his  Indian  Territory  visit  had  faded. 
He  was  now  nearly  forty  years  old,  and  he  had  become  a  man 
of  large  affairs,  although  he  had  not  made  the  fortune  he 
coveted.  The  letters  in  which  Beaumont  and  Pakali  had 
severed  all  connection  with  him  had  aroused  his  deep  resent- 
ment. At  first  the  emotion  he  had  dignified  as  love  for 
Pakali  caused  him  to  suffer  a  certain  amount  of  regret.  He 
had  deceived  himself  into  the  belief  that  he  would  one  day 
go -back  to  claim  his  wife.  In  a  few  weeks  the  relief  that 
he  felt  in  the  situation,  which  made  it  unnecessary  for  him 
to  confess  his  marriage  to  his  mother  and  to  his  friends, 
became  dominant,  and  he  had  readjusted  himself  to  his  city 
environment.  His  mother's  social  ambitions  had  soon  made 
him  a  conspicuous  figure  in  an  exclusive  clique  where  Eleanor 
Dudley  was  a  favourite.  His  name  and  Miss  Dudley's  be- 
came so  constantly  associated  that  their  acquaintances  be- 
lieved them  to  be  engaged.  Stuart's  sense  of  justice  had 
caused  him  to  devote  himself  more  and  more  to  his  business, 
in  order  that  he  might  break  off  what  had  become  an  em- 
barrassing friendship,  but  fate,  in  the  form  of  his  mother, 
threw  Miss  Dudley  and  him  much  together.  Stuart's  easy- 
going nature  yielded  readily  to  whatever  temptation  prom- 


MIKO   AND    HIS   NEW   FRIEND         223 

ised  pleasure.  At  the  end  of  five  years  Miss  Dudley,  who 
had  denied  her  hand  and  fortune  to  many  suitors,  held  him 
in  a  thrall  from  which  he  had  no  desire  to  escape.  Although 
he  had  never  told  her  that  he  was  not  free  to  marry,  she 
accepted  their  rather  vague  relation  without  inquiry,  because 
she  was  one  of  the  class  of  women  to  whom  marriage  means 
a  bondage  more  or  less  disagreeable.  The  last  five  years, 
however,  had  changed  Miss  Dudley's  point  of  view.  She 
was  no  longer  young,  and  society  had  become  less  fascinating 
since  she  could  not  overlook  the  fact  that  she  was  passe. 

Eleanor  Dudley  had  become  necessary  to  Stuart's  life;  her 
homage  had  made  even  his  minor  political  success  worth 
winning.  She  had  supplied  a  motive  more  potent  than  sel- 
fish ambition.  At  the  time  when  the  man  and  the  woman 
faced  a  crisis  in  their  lives,  Stuart  had  been  forced  to  make 
this  second  trip  to  Indian  Territory.  The  fortune  he, 
whose  habits  were  self-indulgent  and  extravagant,  needed 
more  and  more  each  year,  depended  upon  the  success  with 
which  he  executed  his  mission.  His  friend,  Elisha  Ford- 
ham,  gave  him  no  opportunity  for  choice  when  it  was  neces- 
sary for  the  syndicate  to  send  an  agent  to  the  Chickasaw 
legislature.  Stuart  still  cherished  a  belief  in  a  happy-go- 
lucky  destiny;  he  hoped  that  his  trip  to  Tishomingo  might 
suggest  some  excuse  for  obtaining  a  divorce  from  his  Indian 
wife.  But  chance,  which  delights  in  playing  queer  tricks, 
had  sent  the  son  of  whose  existence  he  was  unaware,  to 
meet  him  at  the  moment  he  set  foot  in  Tishomingo. 

Standing  there  with  his  back  against  the  boulder,  Stuart's 
thoughts  travelled  to  and  fro  over  the  ten  years.  The  rush- 
ing waters  seemed  to  mock  him  with  the  steadiness  of  their 
onward  course.  His  mind  was  a  whirlpool  of  doubts  and 
uncertainties.  He,  who  ever  avoided  disturbing  reflections, 
now  confronted  his  future,  which  rose  before  him  like  one  of 
the  blank  rocky  walls  that  Pennington  Creek  had  worn  so 
smooth.  Stuart  had  grown  into  a  middle-aged  dignity  which 


224  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

was  the  result  of  association  with  successful  men  rather 
than  the  expression  of  his  own  mental  growth. 

Miko,  who  had  stealthily  climbed  upon  the  boulder, 
startled  the  man,  who  had  passed  a  most  unhappy  quarter  of 
an  hour. 

"  You  forgot  I  was  here,  didn't  you?  "  cried  the  child, 
looking  down  from  the  place  where  his  mother  had  sat  when 
she  talked  to  the  white  man  on  the  first  day  of  their  ac- 
quaintance. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  difficulty  in  forgetting  you 
from  now  on,"  Stuart  answered,  and,  as  he  noticed  the  boy's 
unusual  beauty,  the  consciousness  of  fatherhood  awoke  in 
him.  He  reached  up  and  put  his  hand  upon  the  child's  bare, 
brown  knee. 

"  Your  father  must  be  proud  of  you,"  he  said,  with  a 
sudden  desire  to  discover  what  explanation  had  been  made 
concerning  his  own  existence. 

Miko  was  on  his  guard  in  a  moment. 

"  My  grandfather  and  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun 
are  teaching  me  to  be  an  Indian  the  Chickasaw  Nation  need 
never  be  ashamed  of,"  he  replied. 

"  And  is  your  father  one  of  the  Non-Progressive  Indians 
who  dislike  the  white  men  ?  "  Stuart  persisted. 

Miko  cast  upon  him  a  rebuking  glance. 

"  I  belong  to  my  mother's  people,"  the  boy  answered, 
simply,  as  he  slid  down  from  the  boulder  to  a  place  beside 
Stuart. 

"  I  should  not  have  asked  you  so  many  questions  if  I  had 
not  thought  you  were  a  boy  worth  having,"  apologised 
the  man. 

Father  and  son  looked  at  each  other,  and  Stuart  stooped 
to  put  his  arm  around  the  child  in  order  to  draw  Miko 
nearer,  so  that  he  could  examine  each  feature  with  a  curious 
scrutiny.  When  he  felt  the  contact  with  the  little  body, 
which  was  his  own  flesh  and  blood,  the  man  forgot  what  part 


MIKO  AND    HIS    NEW   FRIEND         225 

Eleanor  Dudley  had  in  his  life.  The  shame  of  his  dis* 
loyalty  to  the  child's  mother  put  a  fever  into  his  veins.  He 
pushed  Miko's  black  hair  away  from  the  broad  brow  and 
gently  stroked  the  childish  cheek.  In  the  chin  he  saw  the 
faint  dimple  which  gave  his  own  face  a  charm  the  Indian 
despises.  As  if  he  read  the  thought  that  took  special  cogni- 
sance of  the  childish  chin,  Miko  said: 

"  I  am  to  be  so  strong  and  brave  that  no  Chickasaw  will 
know  I  have  a  dimple  in  my  chin." 

"What  is  your  name,  my  boy?"  As  the  father  asked 
this  question  of  his  son  he  felt  a  jealous  fear  lest  the  answer 
should  show  that  all  trace  of  his  own  relationship  had  been 
ignored. 

"  My  name  is  Miko  Stuart,"  replied  the  child. 

"  Miko  has  a  pleasant  sound.     What  does  it  mean?  " 

"  My  grandfather  calls  me  Push-Kush-Miko — The 
Little  Chieftain,"  explained  the  boy ;  "  but  I  was  baptised 
Arnold  Stuart,  which  is  my  father's  name." 

The  man  tightened  his  embrace  and  then  put  the  boy  from 
him.  Trembling,  Stuart  leaned  against  the  boulder.  Pres- 
ently he  found  himself  staring  at  the  walled-in  crevice. 

"  Do  you  see  that  place  where  the  stones  are  wedged  in 
the  rock?  "  he  asked,  and  Miko  ran  to  it.  In  the  spring- 
time mosses  had  overgrown  Pakali's  shrine  of  love,  but  now 
they  were  dried  and  falling  away.  Obeying  the  iconoclastic 
instinct  of  boyhood,  Miko  began  to  tear  away  the  stones. 

"  Here  are  a  lot  of  little  sticks  all  in  a  row,"  he  announced ; 
and  Stuart,  looking  over  his  shoulder,  saw  the  broken 
branches  from  which  all  the  withered  flowers  had  fallen. 


CHAPTER    XXIX 
HATTAKOWA   AND   STUART 

ARNOLD  STUART  passed  an  uncomfortable  night  after  his 
interview  with  Miko.  For  the  first  time  in  all  his  life  he 
felt  an  apprehension  of  impending  trouble.  This  feeling  was 
one  quite  apart  from  his  disturbed  condition  of  mind  caused 
by  the  discovery  of  the  existence  of  his  child.  Fordham  had 
already  realised  immense  returns  from  his  Indian  Territory 
enterprises,  and  he  demonstrated  a  plan  by  which  Stuart 
could  obtain  possession  of  land  enough  to  make  the  hazards 
of  the  trip  to  Tishomingo  appear  insignificant.  Stuart's 
faith  in  his  luck  which,  according  to  his  theory,  enabled  him 
to  do  whatever  seemed  most  pleasant  and  most  profitable, 
had  led  him  to  marry  Pakali.  He  had  enjoyed  a  brief  period 
of  happiness,  and  he  had  escaped  all  immediate  consequences 
of  his  cowardly  course  of  action.  It  had  seemed  easier  to 
take  the  risk  of  confronting  Beaumont  and  Hattakowa  than 
it  would  be  to  decline  an  opportunity  to  acquire  valuable 
property.  The  possibility  of  obtaining  the  right  to  marry 
Eleanor  Dudley  had  presented  more  alluring  pictures  for  the 
future  than  the  continuance  of  his  present  position  as  the 
discarded  husband  of  an  Indian  woman.  His  encounter 
with  Hattakowa  had  been  disturbing,  because  it  had  put  him 
on  the  defensive,  and  made  him  appear  at  a  disadvantage, 
He  was  not  a  coward,  and  he  gave  hardly  more  than  a  second 
thought  to  Hattakowa's  threat.  Miko  had  touched  the 
deeps  in  him.  The  child  born  of  the  best  love  that  could 
come  into  his  life,  because  it  was  love  spontaneous  and  de- 
void of  mercenary  motives,  embodied  the  sacred  aspirations 
of  two  souls  untouched  by  the  sordid  impulses  of  life.  He 

226 


HATTAKOWA   AND    STUART  227 

longed  to  claim  Miko  before  the  world,  and  then,  remember- 
ing Pakali's  dismissal,  he  knew  that  such  a  claim  would  be 
the  crowning  indignity  of  his  pusillanimous  conduct  toward 
his  wife. 

It  was  no  wonder  that  when  Mr.  Billy  Brown  found 
Stuart  at  breakfast,  in  the  hotel  dining  room,  he  noticed  an 
apathetic  attitude  concerning  the  bills  to  be  forced  through 
the  legislature.  Brown  had  grown  heavier  and  coarser  with 
the  passing  years,  and  the  black  moustache  that  he  twisted 
frequently  was  streaked  with  grey.  The  banker  had  ar- 
rived on  the  early  train  from  Wauchula.  He  had  brought 
with  him  a  most  encouraging  report  of  what  had  been  accom- 
plished in  handling  the  Progressive  Indians,  who  were  now 
in  the  majority  in  both  houses. 

"  We've  got  the  Federal  Government  back  of  us,"  said 
Brown,  after  he  had  outlined  the  plan  of  procedure  agreed 
upon  with  the  elder  Mattison.  "  There  isn't  any  reason 
why  we  should  not  make  the  fullbloods  do  just  about  as  we 
want  them  to."  He  helped  himself  to  an  orange,  which  he 
peeled  while  he  waited  for  Stuart's  answer. 

"  Anything  you  do  will  be  all  right,"  declared  Elisha 
Fordham's  confidential  agent,  whose  tone  was  indifferent. 
After  a  little  pause  he  inquired: 

"  Has  our  syndicate  done  much  harm  to  the  Chickasaws 
who  know  enough  to  take  care  of  their  lands?  " 

"  Of  course  it  has,"  admitted  Billy  Brown,  not  without 
some  pride  in  his  diplomatic  achievements. 

Stuart  polished  his  glasses,  and,  avoiding  his  companion's 
glance,  replied : 

"  I  have  no  compunctions  about  acquiring  property  from 
the  fullbloods,  who  would  get  rid  of  it  to  someone,  but  I 
must  confess  that  I  dislike  the  idea  of  defrauding  the  educated 
people  of  the  Nation." 

"  It's  rather  late  to  have  qualms  of  conscience,"  com- 
mented the  banker.  "  I  am  told  you've  been  the  lawyer  that 


228  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

has  guided  the  syndicate  for  ten  years.  If  it  hadn't  been 
for  you  none  of  us  might  have  thought  of  bringing  in  those 
Mississippi  Chickasaws  and  Choctaws." 

The  accusation  caused  Stuart  to  wince,  and  Billy  Brown, 
seeing  his  advantage,  went  on : 

"  There's  one  rich  halfbreed  here  who  has  spent  thousands 
of  dollars  righting  for  the  rights  of  the  Indians,  but  we 
always  beat  him  at  every  turn.  He  is  an  intelligent  old 
fellow  named  Beaumont,  and  he  has  a  daughter  who  is  a 
beauty.  She  helps  him  spend  his  money  in  schools  and 
schemes  intended  to  improve  the  condition  of  the  red  man." 

With  trembling  hands,  Stuart  put  down  the  cup  of  coffee 
he  had  raised  to  his  lips. 

"  I  believe  I've  heard  of  the  Beaumonts,"  he  said. 

"  The  daughter  isn't  called  '  Beaumont '  any  more,"  ex- 
plained Brown.  "  She  was  married  ten  years  ago  to  a 
white  man,  who  deserted  her.  By  the  way,  his  name  was 
Stuart,  the  same  as  yours.  The  wedding  took  place  before 
I  came  to  the  Territory,  but  it  has  always  seemed  strange  to 
me  that  any  man  would  repent  of  marrying  such  a  woman 
as  Mrs.  Stuart." 

It  was  evident  that  the  banker  had  no  suspicion  that  the 
syndicate's  agent  could  be  Pakali's  husband,  for  he  spoke 
with  the  manner  of  a  person  who  retails  a  well-known  piece 
of  gossip.  Stuart  pushed  away  his  plate,  and  hurriedly  left 
the  table. 

Arnold  Stuart  was  too  clever  a  lobbyist  to  let  his  presence 
in  Tishomingo  be  publicly  associated  with  the  schemes  of 
the  land  syndicate.  He  had  taken  care  to  give  out  the 
information  that  he  was  the  attorney  for  a  company  holding 
a  mineral  lease.  He  pretended  that  he  came  to  the  Chicka- 
saw  capital  to  look  over  certain  records.  He  remained  in 
his  room  during  the  daily  sessions  of  the  legislature,  and  there 
the  Mattisons  and  Billy  Brown  went  to  report  to  him.  On 
this  particular  day  Billy  Brown  returned  late  in  the  after- 


HATTAKOWA   AND   STUART  229 

noon  with  the  announcement  that  Joseph  Dixon  had  madt 
trouble  in  the  lower  house. 

"  Dixon  can't  do  much,  though,"  averred  the  banker, 
"  for  we  have  most  of  the  Senate  on  our  side.  Beaumont 
and  Sands  know  it  isn't  worth  while  to  make  any  fuss,  and 
old  John  Oaktree  is  practically  helpless,  because  he  has  to 
speak  through  an  interpreter." 

Gee-Haw  Blikens  hung  around  the  hotel  the  greater  part 
of  the  day.  After  losing  his  farming  machinery  and  live 
stock  through  his  deal  with  the  banker,  he  had  become  a 
bitter  enemy  of  Billy  Brown.  He  took  care  that  Hatta- 
kowa  and  Beaumont  should  hear  of  the  conferences  with 
the  stranger  in  the  hotel. 

A  week  passed  without  the  occurrence  of  any  incident  of 
a  disturbing  character  and  Stuart  regained  his  mental 
balance.  With  minute  interest  he  followed  each  day's  pro- 
ceedings of  the  Chickasaw  Legislature,  and  when  he  was  as- 
sured that  the  syndicate's  most  important  bills  would  pass 
with  little  opposition,  his  usual  complacency  returned  to  him. 
At  the  time  when  he  felt  most  composed,  however,  he  had  a 
brief  conversation  with  Hattakowa  which  unnerved  him  for 
twenty-four  hours.  Stuart  was  standing  in  the  arched  en- 
trance of  the  hotel  one  evening  when  Hattakowa  approached 
him,  with  the  evident  intention  of  demanding  an  interview. 
There  was  no  chance  to  escape  the  Indian,  who  said: 

"  When  are  you  going  away  from  Tishomingo?  Your 
work  with  the  legislature  is  about  completed,  and  it  seems 
unnecessary  for  me  to  suggest  that  you  would  better  not 
remain  after  you  are  assured  there  is  no  danger  your  thieving 
plans  can  miscarry." 

Stuart's  anger  blazed  up. 

"  I  am  not  so  fond  of  staying  among  savages  as  to  remain 
longer  than  necessary,"  he  retorted ;  "  but  I  do  not  ac- 
knowledge your  right  to  inquire  into  my  affairs." 

"  We  have  discussed  that  question  before,"  replied  Hatta- 


230  THE   MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

kowa.  "  I  have  the  right,  whether  you  acknowledge  it  or 
not.  I  have  not  interfered  with  your  nefarious  schemes  be- 
cause I  want  to  delay  the  day  of  reckoning  until  I  can 
measure  the  exact  debt  of  vengeance  I  owe  you." 

The  two  men  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  each  other, 
as  if  each  would  read  what  the  future  held.  Again  there 
seemed  to  come  to  Stuart  the  prescience  of  ill,  not  altogether 
explainable  in  the  Indian's  reference  to  the  day  when  they 
would  balance  their  accounts  with  each  other. 

Stuart  loved  life,  since  it  meant  to  him  an  opportunity  to 
enjoy  in  a  gentlemanly  way  all  the  pleasures  that  civilisation 
offers.  He  had  dabbled  in  politics  because  it  added  zest  to 
his  professional  experiences  and  helped  him  to  become  con- 
spicuous as  a  legal  practitioner.  Now  that  he  was  likely  to 
obtain  enough  money  to  make  possible  the  indulgence  of 
costly  recreation,  he  could  look  forward  to  years  of  luxur- 
ious existence. 

His  fears  took  the  form  of  dread  lest  in  some  manner  the 
fortune  within  his  grasp  might  slip  from  him.  Hattakowa, 
standing  there  before  him,  in  appearance  was  so  far  from  the 
Indian  that  it  seemed  absurd  to  imagine  that  he  could  resort 
to  physical  violence  in  order  to  achieve  any  vengeful  purpose. 
He  was  too  much  civilised  to  shoot  a  man  in  the  back,  and 
at  the  worst  he  was  likely  to  do  harm  through  some  legisla- 
tive coup  d'etat.  Even  this  suggestion  Stuart  dismissed  as 
absurd,  when  he  remembered  Brown's  assurance  that  the 
Progressive  party  was  in  control  of  the  Chickasaw  govern- 
ment. 

"  We  might  as  well  reach  an  understanding  now,"  the 
white  man  said,  carelessly  lighting  a  cigar.  "  Has  it  oc- 
curred to  you  that  you  might  attribute  to  me  many  evil 
designs  of  which  I  am  innocent?  " 

"  The  fact  that  you  have  dared  to  return  to  the  Territory 
is  enough  to  prove  that  you  are  absolutely  without  any  feel- 
ing of  regret  for  your  conduct  toward  my  kinswoman," 


HATTAKOWA   AND    STUART  231 

Hattakowa  answered.  "  You  have  demonstrated  that  you 
are  devoid  of  the  commonest  human  feeling,  since,  after 
discovering  the  existence  of  your  son,  you  have  continued  to 
carry  out  the  plan  by  which  you  will  complete  the  work  of 
robbing  him,  as  well  as  other  members  of  our  Nation." 

Stuart  grew  pale  beneath  Hattokowa's  contemptuous 
glance. 

"  You  forget  one  thing,"  he  said.  "  Mr.  Beaumont  and 
his  daughter  forbade  my  return." 

"  You  had  neglected  your  wife  for  months.  The  pride  of 
the  Indian  could  not  endure  such  treatment.  George  Beau- 
mont intended  to  come  with  me  to-night,  for  he  has  certain 
things  to  say  to  you,  but  he  is  unable  to  leave  Moma  Binna 
because  he  is  helpless  from  a  sudden  attack  of  rheumatism. 
In  his  name,  as  well  as  my  own,  I  command  you  to  leave 
Tishomingo  to-morrow." 

"  I  cannot  go  to-morrow,"  Stuart  answered,  in  a  defiant 
tone,  as  he  flicked  the  ashes  from  his  cigar. 

Hattakowa  looked  at  him  between  half-closed  eyes,  then, 
suddenly  turning  upon  his  heel,  the  Indian  walked  down 
the  street. 


CHAPTER    XXX 
A   CHANCE   MEETING 

STUART  lingered  in  Tishomingo  for  several  days  after  Hatta- 
kowa  had  commanded  him  to  leave  the  Territory.  Brown 
had  presented  promising  opportunities  for  investment,  and, 
now  that  he  felt  the  greed  for  wealth,  Stuart  was  willing 
to  take  any  chances  which  offered  quick  returns  in  money. 
He  had  signed  a  mineral  lease  on  what  promised  to  be  a 
valuable  coal  mining  property,  and  this  new  venture  detained 
him  in  Tishomingo  over  Sunday,  inasmuch  as  he  wished  to 
meet  Brown  and  the  elder  Mattison  at  South  McAlester  the 
next  day. 

After  dinner,  Sunday,  Stuart,  who  had  nothing  better  to 
do,  drove  toward  a  strip  of  woodland.  The  autumn  after- 
noon was  warm  and  he  let  the  horse  go  slowly,  without 
caring  whither  the  road  led.  He  thought  with  relief  that 
within  a  week  he  would  be  back  in  Chicago,  where  he  could 
forget  everything  concerning  the  Indian  Territory,  except 
the  lands  that  he  would  acquire. 

A  turn  in  the  road  brought  into  view  two  horses  tied  to  a 
fence.  It  was  not  until  he  was  within  a  few  yards  of  them 
that  Stuart  saw  their  owners,  and  recognised  Miko  and 
someone  who  must  be  the  child's  mother.  The  woman  was 
sitting  with  her  back  against  a  tree,  so  that  Stuart  could  catch 
but  a  glimpse  of  a  light  grey  habit  and  a  broad-brimmed 
hat.  He  might  have  turned  back  even  after  Miko  called 
loudly,  "  Good-evening." 

The  child  ran  out  into  the  road,  and  the  woman,  rising  to 
her  feet,  turned  toward  him  a  face  in  which  there  came  a 
gradual  perception  that  the  hour  she  had  dreaded  for  years 

232 


A   CHANCE    MEETING  233 

had  come  to  her.  She  stood  in  much  the  same  attitude  that 
the  man  remembered  when  she  had  smiled  at  him  from 
among  the  yellow  sunflowers,  but  now  the  light  was  gone 
from  her  eyes,  which  looked  at  him  with  a  fascination  that 
held  his  gaze,  while  her  dark  skin  took  on  a  livid  hue.  It 
would  have  been  merciful  for  Stuart  to  drive  on,  but  he  had 
never  denied  himself  the  gratification  of  any  whim,  and  now, 
without  counting  the  consequences,  he  stepped  from  the 
buggy,  leaving  the  spiritless  livery  horse  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  road. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  give  you  the  pain  of  seeing  me, 
Pakali,"  said  Stuart,  pronouncing  his  wife's  name  with  hesi- 
tation. 

He  stood  before  her  as  if  he  were  a  distorted  image  of  her 
girlhood  ideal.  His  figure  had  the  heavy  solidity  of  a  well- 
fed  middle  age.  The  expression  of  his  face  had  changed. 
In  youth  the  eyes  behind  the  glasses  had  been  quite  wide 
open  and  the  mouth  had  had  a  pleasant  upward  curve,  while 
the  cleft  chin  had  been  well  molded.  Now  the  ease-loving 
man  of  the  world  betrayed  his  nature  in  his  countenance. 
Self-indulgence  was  written  in  every  line  marking  eyes  and 
mouth.  Nevertheless,  Stuart  was  still  handsome,  for  he 
had  escaped  grossness.  As  Pakali  looked  at  him  she  no- 
ticed every  alteration  of  outline  and  expression  made  by 
time. 

"  Why  did  you  come  back  to  Tishomingo  ?  "  she  asked, 
with  a  tremor  in  her  voice. 

"  I  came  on  business,"  he  answered.  "  I  have  been  here 
some  time." 

Miko,  who  had  been  examining  the  livery  horse,  heard  his 
mother's  question,  and,  after  Stuart  had  answered  it,  he 
explained : 

"  Mother,  dear,  this  is  the  gentleman  The  Man  Looking 
for  the  Sun  and  I  met  at  the  station  the  day  we  went 
fishing." 


234  THE    MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

"  Since  then  I  have  seen  Miko  on  the  street  many  times," 
said  Stuart,  "  and  we  passed  one  afternoon  together  down  by 
Pennington  Creek." 

"  Why  did  no  one  tell  me  you  were  here?  "  Pakali  ques- 
tioned, with  a  rush  of  feeling. 

"  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun  told  you  we  met  a 
stranger  at  the  station.  You  have  forgotten  that  we  carried 
the  traveller  to  the  hotel."  As  he  spoke  Miko  slipped  his 
arm  through  his  mother's,  and,  seeing  the  agitation  in  her 
face,  he  cast  a  questioning  glance  at  the  stranger. 

"  Miko,  will  you  ride  over  to  the  Blikens  ranch  without 
me?"  asked  the  child's  mother.  "You  can  do  the  errand 
as  well  as  I,  and  I  will  talk  to  this  gentleman  until  you 
come  back." 

Miko  obeyed  with  visible  reluctance,  and,  when  he  had 
gone,  Pakali  said : 

"  All  these  ten  years  I  have  known  that  some  day  we 
must  come  face  to  face  again.  I  have  thought  of  what  I 
desired  to  make  you  understand,  but  now  that  we  are  again 
in  the  very  place  where  the  old  grapevine  once  grew,  I  do 
not  know  how  to  speak."  She  pressed  her  hand  to  her 
bosom  as  she  made  an  effort  to  control  her  emotion.  "  I 
have  always  wanted  you  to  know  that,  even  if  you  had 
obeyed  a  sense  of  duty,  I  could  not  have  dwelt  under  your 
roof.  If  love  could  not  open  the  gates  of  your  city,  I  am 
glad  they  were  barred  against  me." 

Stuart  went  several  steps  nearer  to  her,  but  she  put  out  her 
hand,  as  if  to  command  him  to  keep  at  a  distance. 

"  You  must  know  that  I  have  tried  to  understand  just 
why  you  repented  of  our  marriage,  and  now  that  I  am  older 
it  is  all  plain  to  me.  I  have  been  afraid  you  might  imagine 
I  have  judged  you  harshly,  but  I  have  tried  to  be  just  to 
you." 

As  she  spoke  there  was  such  majesty  in  her  bearing,  such 
sublime  submission  to  the  facts  of  her  life  shone  in  her  face, 


A   CHANCE    MEETING  235 

that  Stuart  was  awestricken.  For  a  moment  his  self-respect 
fell  away  from  him  and  he  beheld  himself  stripped  of  all 
the  best  attributes  of  manhood.  He  had  eased  his  conscience 
by  sophistries  which  seemed  to  justify  his  acceptance  of 
Pakali's  dismissal,  after  his  long  months  of  neglect;  now  he 
realised  that  he  had  won  a  love  of  which  he 'had  been  utterly 
unworthy.  In  Pakali's  presence  he  felt  again  the  fascination 
of  her  personality.  Her  beauty,  matured  and  softened,  took 
hold  of  his  senses. 

"  You  did  not  let  me  know  why  I  was  summoned  back 
to  Tishomingo.  Why  was  I  not  informed  when  the  child 
was  -born  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"If  you  could  not  heed  the  call  of  love,  why  should  I 
have  played  upon  your  sympathies?  You  knew  I  was  ill, 
and  you  did  not  come  to  me."  Pakali  spoke  calmly,  for  she 
had  gained  command  of  her  emotions. 

"  I  was  a  weak,  cruel,  selfish  boy  then,  even  though  I  was 
of  man's  age,"  answered  Stuart.  "  I  have  no  explanation 
to  offer.  What  reparation  can  I  make  except  to  do  some- 
thing for  our  son?  " 

In  Pakali's  eyes  blazed  a  sudden  fire. 

"  Miko  is  mine,  all  mine  now,"  declared  the  boy's  mother. 
"  I  have  bought  him  with  the  price  of  pain  and  loneliness, 
agony  and  despair.  As  soon  as  I  knew  that  you  did  not  love 
me  enough  to  hasten  to  my  side,  when  my  heart  cried  out 
for  you,  I  hoped  you  would  never  know  that  a  son  had  been 
given  to  me.  I  have  looked  upon  Miko  as  a  compensation 
for  the  loss  of  your  love." 

"  Pakali,  you  didn't  lose  my  love;  I  loved  you  as  much  as 
I  could  love  any  woman,"  faltered  Stuart. 

"Yes,  I  believe  you  did,"  Pakali  answered;  "you  loved 
me  as  much  as  you  could.  Perhaps  the  white  man  does  not 
know  the  love  that  is  greater  than  all  things  else  in  the 
world;  perhaps  civilisation  puts  wealth  and  ambition  and 
social  station  before  love." 


236  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

"  I  cannot  bear  your  reproaches.  Can  you  not  forgive  ra§ 
and  let  me  have  a  chance  to  retrieve  myself  in  your  eyes?  " 
the  man  pleaded. 

"  I  have  not  meant  to  reproach  you,"  Pakali's  voice  soft- 
ened, and  pity  came  into  her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  her  hus- 
band. "  There  was  a  time  when  I  would  have  reminded  you 
of  all  the  promises  of  love  which  you  made  to  me,  but  that 
time  has  gone  by.  Your  pledges  have  been  like  all  the 
pledges  the  white  man  has  made  to  my  people.  You  have 
broken  faith  with  me,  and  I  am  enough  of  an  Indian  to  hold 
that  memory  always." 

The  golden  haze  of  the  afternoon  had  deepened.  The 
man  and  the  woman  stood  there  in  the  silence  of  the  sunset 
hour  as  their  thoughts  bridged  the  years  and  travelled  back 
and  forth  above  the  ruins  of  their  youthful  hopes. 

"  I  might  yet  win  your  respect,  Pakali,"  Stuart  said.  He 
had  been  standing  with  his  head  uncovered  and  now  he 
threw  aside  his  hat  in  order  that  he  might  take  both  her 
hands  in  his.  She  would  have  prevented  him  from  touch- 
ing her,  but  something  of  his  old  influence  compelled  her  to 
be  passive. 

"  It  is  not  too  late  for  you  to  come  away  with  me  to  my 
city,"  he  said.  "  Let  me  take  you  and  Miko.  I  can  change 
my  life;  I  can  adjust  it  to  your  needs.  I  am  not  such  a 
contemptible  man  as  you  think  me,  and  you  can  bring  out 
all  the  good  that  is  in  my  nature.  I  have  tried  to  forget 
you ;  I  have  even  thought  I  could  marry  another  woman,  but, 
since  I  first  looked  upon  my  own  child,  I  have  known  it 
would  be  worth  while  to  live  for  my  son  and  my  son's 
mother." 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  erase  all  the  memories  of  those 
ten  years,  and  restore  the  faith  I  gave  you  long  ago?  "  asked 
Pakali,  looking  at  her  husband  through  her  tears.  The 
touch  of  his  hand  stirred  in  her  the  quick  response  that  in 


A   CHANCE    MEETING  237 

the  old  days  his  caresses  had  always  called  forth.  While  the 
tears  blurred  her  sight  she  saw  again  the  youth  whom  she 
had  loved. 

The  man  was  quick  to  notice  the  advantage  he  had  gained. 
He  would  have  drawn  her  closer  to  him,  but  she  freed  her- 
self, and,  with  arms  outstretched  against  the  tree  around 
which  the  old  grapevine  had  once  entwined  its  tendrils,  hid 
her  face  while  she  wept  as  only  a  strong  woman  can  weep 
when  her  emotions  gain  the  mastery  over  her. 

Stuart  waited  until  the  storm  of  feeling  had  sub- 
sided. He  dared  not  touch  her  again,  for  she  had 
waved  him  away  with  a  gesture  so  imperious  he  could  not 
but  obey  it.  He  passed  a  miserable  five  minutes,  in  which 
the  thought  of  Eleanor  Dudley  came  to  mock  at  him.  Again 
he  had  tried  to  do  a  thing  that  tempted  him  momentarily 
because  Pakali  and  Miko  would  be  presentable  in  his  world. 
Even  though  his  son  was  marked  by  an  Indian  ancestry,  he 
was  a  handsome  boy,  with  a  strong  individuality  and  a 
bright  mind. 

"  I  thought  I  could  never  be  hurt  by  you  again.  I  be- 
lieved you  had  lost  the  power  to  make  me  suffer,"  Pakali 
said  presently.  "  You  have  dwelt  as  a  guest  in  the  house 
of  my  heart  ever  since  you  ceased  to  be  the  lover  welcomed 
there.  I  have  held  you  as  one  who  must  be  ever  part  of  my 
thoughts,  even  though  you  could  never  again  play  upon  my 
emotions.  You  are  not  the  man  I  loved  ten  years  ago,  and 
I  am  not  the  woman  whom  you  promised  to  care  for  until 
death  should  part  us.  My  tears  are  for  the  lost  Pakali,  who 
was  young;  the  Pakali  who  was  shut  out  from  your  city. 
You  and  I  must  face  the  future  with  the  wisdom  that  ex- 
perience has  brought  to  us.  If  you  want  your  freedom,  you 
shall  have  it.  I  have  often  wished  for  the  courage  to  give 
it  to  you.  I  exact  no  penalties  except  what  is,  perhaps,  the 
greatest  of  all — that  you  shall  never  let  Miko  know  you 


238  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

are  his  father.  Is  he  not  mine  by  every  right?  For  what- 
ever wrong  you  have  ever  done  me,  I  would  have  him  make 
recompense  by  growing  to  be  in  sympathy  an  Indian  who 
shall  work  for  the  uplifting  of  his  persecuted  people. 
Through  my  agonies  there  may  be  wrought  out  an  atone- 
ment for  some  of  the  injustice  the  white  man  has  done  the 
Indian." 

In  the  fervour  with  which  she  uttered  her  aspirations  for 
her  son  Pakali  carried  to  her  husband  the  conviction  that  he 
had  forfeited  forever  all  claim  upon  her  and  Miko.  He, 
who  seldom  was  thwarted  in  any  wish,  was  unnerved  by  his 
humiliation,  yet  the  logic  of  circumstances  was  clear  to  him. 
His  plea  for  reinstatement  in  Pakali's  respect  could  not  be 
anything  but  futile. 

"  It  is  likely  we  shall  never  see  each  other  again,"  Stuart 
said,  slowly,  after  a  painful  silence,  "  and  I  should  like  to 
feel  that,  as  time  goes  by,  you  will  try  to  remember  only 
whatever  good  you  found  in  me  when  you  believed  me  to  be 
worthy  to  marry  you.  The  wrong  I  did  you  was  the  result 
of  weakness ;  it  was  not  intentional.  I  put  off  the  announce- 
ment of  our  marriage;  then,  after  my  return  to  Chicago,  I 
delayed  the  going  back  for  you  until  my  accumulated  faults 
became  a  barrier  that  separated  us.  If  I  had  known  about 
the  child  I  could  not  have  refused  to  hasten  to  you.  All 
these  years  I  have  tried  to  retain  my  self-respect  by  making 
myself  believe  that  you  and  your  father  were  to  blame  for 
too  hasty  action." 

"  If  you  had  loved  me  as  I  loved  you,  you  would  have 
come  to  make  explanations.  You  would  have  forgotten 
every  other  consideration  except  the  duty  you  owed  your 
wife,  a  duty  that  should  not  have  been  a  galling  load," 
Pakali  answered.  "  Ah,  you  bartered  love  for  the  world's 
good  opinion ;  you  sacrificed  me  to  the  gods  that  your  civili- 
sation has  set  up  for  the  white  man*  to  worship."  Something 
of  the  bitterness  that  springs  in  the  heart  of  every  sensitive 


A   CHANCE    MEETING  239 

woman  who  has  suffered,  overflowed  as  Pakali  remembered 
the  rebellion  against  which  she  fought  in  the  first  days  of 
her  misery.  She  was  standing  with  clenched  hands  and 
with  face  turned  away  from  her  husband,  for  when  she 
looked  at  him  she  saw  vaguely  the  Arnold  Stuart  whom  she 
had  loved  when  she  was  a  girl. 

"  I  did  betray  your  faith ;  I  did  break  every  vow  I  made  to 
you,"  confessed  Stuart.  "  There  must  be  some  way  by 
which  I  can  make  reparation." 

"  You  do  not  understand  a  woman's  nature  or  you  would 
not  imagine  it  possible  to  repair  such  an  injury  as  that  from 
which  I  have  suffered."  Pakali  drew  a  long  breath,  as  if 
the  pain  in  her  heart  stifled  her.  "  Can  you  bring  back 
faith,  and  love,  and  hope?  Is  there  any  magic  by  which  you 
can  restore  my  youth  ?  For  ten  years  I  have  been  denied  all 
the  sweet  inspiration  of  love,  and  I  am  grown  to  be  a  woman 
quite  different  from  the  one  who  would  have  developed  under 
natural  conditions.  Only  in  my  dreams  have  I  the  home 
that  is  my  right,  and  there  dwell  the  sons  and  daughters  that 
might  have  been  mine."  §he  was  looking  toward  him  now, 
but  it  was  as  if  she  did  not  see  him,  and  she  was  transfigured 
by  the  vision  of  her  lost  happiness.  She  wras  silent  for  a 
moment.  Then  she  went  on:  "I  do  not  mean  to  accuse 
you;  I  speak  because  it  is  right  that  you  should  know  the 
power  that  men  have  to  make  women  wretched.  I  want  you 
to  leave  this  place  before  Miko  comes  back,  so  I  shall  say 
good-bye  now.  You  go  away  with  my  forgiveness,  though 
memory  cannot  be  blotted  out." 

Stuart  would  have  touched  her  hand,  but  she  drew  away 
from  him. 

"  Go  back  to  your  city,"  she  said,  gently.  "  The  gates 
are  barred  forever  against  the  Indian  woman." 

Stuart  gazed  at  her  as  she  stood  there  in  the  majesty  with 
which  her  sorrow  clothed  her.  A  sense  of  aloofness  made 
him  dumb  when  he  would  have  uttered  a  last  plea  in  justifi- 


240  THE   MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

cation  of  himself.  With  bowed  head  he  walked  toward  the 
carriage,  but  he  retraced  his  steps,  and,  standing  near  her, 
said: 

Pakali,  when  you  are  trying  to  forgive  me,  will  you 
teach  Miko  that  his  unknown  father  is  not  altogether 
bad?" 

"  I  have  taught  my  son  that  you  are  only  forgetful  of  his 
mother,"  was  the  answer. 

Pakali  stood  motionless  there  by  the  road  for  a  long  time, 
after  she  was  left  alone.  She  was  sitting  upon  a  log  when 
Miko  returned  from  the  Blikens  ranch  with  Hattakowa, 
whom  he  had  met  riding  toward  Tishomingo.  Miko  had 
told  Hattakowa  that  the  stranger  was  with  his  mother,  and 
the  Indian  had  spurred  his  horse  into  its  best  speed.  When 
he  found  Pakali  alone  she  had  partially  regained  her  com- 
posure. She  rose  and  walked  unsteadily  toward  her  horse, 
in  order  that  she  might  have  an  excuse  for  turning  her  back 
upon  Hattawoka,  from  whose  anxious  glances  she  shrank. 

"  Mother,  where  is  the  gentleman  who  stopped  to  talk 
with  you?  "  asked  Miko.  "  I  wanted  to  see  him  again,  for 
he  said  he  liked  me." 

Hattakowa's  face  hardened  and  his  brows  met  in  a  scowl, 
but  he  pressed  his  lips  together,  while  he  waited  for  the 
answer  to  Miko's  question. 

"  He  drove  back  to  town,"  said  Pakali,  whose  hand 
trembled  so  that  she  could  not  undo  her  horse's  bridle,  which 
she  had  tied  to  the  fence.  Hattakowa,  who  had  been  quick 
to  offer  assistance,  unknotted  the  reins,  and  put  Pakali  into 
her  saddle.  The  three  horses  were  urged  into  a  gallop,  and, 
with  Miko  far  ahead,  Hattakowa  and  Pakali  rode  back  to 
Tishomingo.  They  had  reached  Moma  Binna  before  Hatta- 
kowa spoke  of  what  was  uppermost  in  his  mind. 

"  Forgive  me  for  not  telling  you  that  Arnold  Stuart  was 
in  the  Territory,"  he  said,  when  Pakali  had  wearily  ascended 
the  steps  of  the  veranda.  "  He  promised  me  he  would  not 


A   CHANCE    MEETING  241 

' 
teek  an  interview  with  you,  but  I  might  have  known  that 

he  would  not  keep  his  word." 

"  It  was  a  chance  meeting,"  Pakali  replied.  "  I  know 
you  meant  to  save  me  from  the  pain  of  seeing" — she  hesitated 
— "  my  husband,  after  all  these  years,  but  I  am  glad  that 
I  had  the  chance  to  tell  him  how  I  have  felt  about  his  forget- 
fulness  of  me." 

Hattakowa  had  too  much  delicacy  to  ask  a  question  voicing 
his  desire  to  know  how  they  had  parted,  and  he  'waited  in 
the  hope  that  Pakali  would  add  some  word  of  explanation, 
but,  suddenly  overcome  by  her  emotions,  she  hastily  entered 
the  house. 


CHAPTER    XXXI 

THE   PRICE   OF   FORGETFULNESS 

ARNOLD  STUART  left  Tishomingo  the  day  after  he  met 
Pakali  by  the  roadside.  With  a  sense  of  relief  he  piled  his 
luggage  i'nto  one  of  the  cars  which  belonged  to  the  evening 
train.  He  had  passed  through  a  period  of  intense  perturba- 
tion. All  his  life  he  had  felt  resentment  whenever  he  was 
compelled  to  suffer  mental  or  physical  distress.  Pakali's 
personality  haunted  him.  Her  beauty,  tragic  in  its  racial 
distinctiveness,  which  was  softened  by  the  strain  of  Cau- 
casian blood,  had  flowered  even  through  sad  experiences,  and, 
while  he  knew  that,  if  she  had  accepted  his  impulsive  offer 
to  make  reparation  for  past  neglect,  he  would  not  be  happy, 
yet  he  disliked  the  idea  that  he  had  lost  a  woman  who  would 
have  done  credit  to  his  discriminating  taste.  His  mind  was 
in  such  a  chaotic  condition  that  he  could  not  think  con- 
nectedly. It  seemed  as  if  all  his  affairs  had  become  so  en- 
tangled that  they  could  never  be  straightened  out. 

It  is  a  human  instinct  for  all  who  err  to  seek  self-justifica- 
tion, but  the  sophistries  which  were  usually  a  balm  to  Stuart's 
conscience  did  not  avail  to  restore  his  equilibrium.  All  the 
good  in  him  had  been  momentarily  awakened,  but,  even  while 
he  felt  anew  the  fascination  which  Pakali  exerted  over  him, 
and  even  though  he  coveted  the  possession  of  his  son,  he  knew 
that  it  would  be  impossible  to  readjust  his  life.  One  thought 
comforted  him — wealth  would  give  him  the  means  of  es- 
caping taunting  memories.  Out  of  the  fortune  he  hoped 
to  obtain  through  the  syndicate,  he  would  make  provision 
for  Miko,  even  though  the  child's  mother  would  inherit 
wealth.  This  idea  helped  to  mend  the  tattered  vestment  of 
his  self-respect.  He  would  make  a  complete  confession  to 

242 


THE    PRICE   OF   FORGETFULNESS       243 

Eleanor  Dudley.  She  would  give  him  the  ready  sympathy 
which  had  drawn  him  to  her  even  when  he  had  thought  to 
break  off  their  long  friendship.  She  would  be  the  one 
woman  who  could  understand.  Perhaps  she  had  guessed  why 
he  had  not  asked  her  to  marry  him;  she  might  suggest  some 
way  of  solving  the  problem  of  his  future. 

While  he  was  thinking,  as,  with  hat  drawn  over  his  eyes, 
he  sat  in  the  corner  of  the  car  seat,  the  train  bumped  along 
for  several  miles  over  a  rough  roadbed.  He  did  not  notice 
a  short  stop  at  a  flag  station,  where  a  man  who  paused  to 
look  at  Stuart's  head  and  shoulders  outlined  against  the  dusty 
window-pane,  entered  the  first  coach,  which  happened  to  be  a 
combination  baggage  and  smoking  car,  where  he  sat  in  the 
dim  light,  which  but  partly  revealed  his  form. 

There  were  many  delays,  which  Stuart  endured  with  but 
scant  patience.  Once  he  walked  through  the  smoking  com- 
partment, passing  the  man  without  even  glancing  at  the 
vague  figure.  At  last  the  train  reached  the  station  where 
it  was  necessary  to  change  cars  for  South  McAlester.  Sev- 
eral negroes  and  Texas  cowboys  crowded  ahead  of  Stuart, 
whose  luggage  was  taken  off  by  two  brakemen.  As  the 
train  was  starting  the  man  who  had  been  sitting  upon  a 
trunk  jumped  to  the  platform. 

The  late  moon  was  rising,  and  Stuart,  standing  among 
his  travelling  bags,  looked  up  to  recognise  Hattakowa.  The 
appearance  of  the  Indian  gave  the  white  man  a  foreboding 
which  made  him  shiver  involuntarily.  Stuart  was  quick  of 
resource,  and,  facing  Hattakowa,  he  said: 

"  I  did  not  notice  you  on  the  train,  Mr.  Dixon." 

"  I  took  care  that  you  should  not  see  me,"  answered  Hatta- 
kowa, "  lest  you  might  desire  to  put  off  our  hour  of  reckon- 
ing." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  inquired  Stuart,  whose  hasty 
glance  showed  him  that  he  and  Hattakowa  would  soon  be 
the  only  ones  left  at  the  isolated  station.  The  negroes  and 


244  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

the  cowboys  had  quickly  disappeared  and  the  sleepy  agent 
was  locking  his  inside  office.  Two  hours  must  pass  before 
the  South  McAlester  train  would  come  in,  and  Stuart 
realised  that  he  had  been  entrapped  at  a  place  where  he 
could  not  escape  from  whatever  reckoning  Hattakowa  chose 
to  demand  of  him. 

"  You  and  I  have  many  scores  to  settle,"  declare  Hatta- 
kowa. "  I  have  given  you  a  long  respite,  and  now  you 
must  answer  to  me  for  the  wrong  you  did  my  kinswoman  ten 
years  ago;  for  the  insult  to  her  you  uttered  the  night 
you  arrived  in  Tishomingo,  when  you  insinuated  that  her 
son  was  mine ;  and  for  the  breaking  of  your  promise  not  to 
disturb  her  peace  by  seeking  an  interview  while  you  were  in 
Tishomingo." 

A  cloud  that  obscured  the  face  of  the  moon  was  slowly 
swept  away  by  the  night  wind,  and  the  ghastly  pallor  on 
Stuart's  face  was  revealed  to  his  enemy.  Life  was  sweet  to 
the  white  man,  and  it  was  worth  while  to  parry  death. 
Until  that  hour  Hattakowa's  threats  had  been  indefinite  and 
therefore  not  alarming.  The  Indian  had  appeared  far  too 
civilised  to  commit  murder,  but  here,  late  in  the  night,  at  a 
lonely  railroad  junction,  it  was  possible  that  Hattakowa  had 
come  to  take  blood  vengeance. 

"  Mr.  Dixon,  you  have  the  right  to  resent  the  wrong  I 
have  done  my  wife,"  Stuart  said,  in  a  propitiatory  tone;  but 
the  fact  that  he  referred  to  Pakali  as  his  wife  added  fuel  to 
Hattakowa's  anger.  "  If  I  could  make  amends,  I  would 
do  so,  yet  if  I  gave  up  my  life  it  would  not  make  your  kins- 
woman any  happier.  I  did  not  seek  the  interview  with 
Pakali,  but  I  used  the  chance  meeting  as  an  opportunity  to 
offer  all  the  reparation  in  my  power.  I  would  have  taken 
her  and  our  son  back  to  Chicago  with  me." 

"  So  you  condescended  to  invite  Pakali  and  her  child  to 
live  under  your  roof  where  you  could  find  new  ways  of  show- 
ing your  indifference  to  them,"  retorted  Hattakowa.  "  How 


THE    PRICE   OF   FORGETFULNESS       245 

dared  you  think  yourself  worthy  to  associate  with  the  woman 
who  is  unfortunate  enough  to  bear  your  name?  "  The  In- 
dian looked  at  the  white  man  with  such  contempt  that 
Stuart's  pale  face  flushed  beneath  his  gaze. 

"What  amends  do  you  exact  from  me?"  Stuart  asked 
after  a  moment's  silence.  "  I  made  the  only  offer  that  a  man 
in  my  position  could  make.  What  more  can  you  expect  ?  " 

Hattakowa  stooped  to  open  a  small  leather  handbag  from 
which  he  took  two  revolvers.  As  the  Indian  raised  himself 
Stuart  saw  a  gleam  of  metal  and  understood  that  the  Indian 
demanded  blood  vengeance  and  nothing  less.  He  stood 
paralysed  for  a  moment.  With  the  full  realisation  that  he 
had  come  face  to  face  with  death,  Stuart  waited  while  Hatta- 
kowa examined  the  firearms. 

"  The  Indian  despises  the  white  man's  duel,"  said  Hatta- 
kowa. "  It  is  the  red  man's  custom  to  hunt  his  foe  as  he 
hunts  the  wild  beast  in  the  forest,  but  I  am  not  so  much  a 
savage  that  I  will  not  give  you  a  chance  to  defend  yourself. 
Here,  take  this  revolver,  and  at  fifteen  paces  we  will  settle 
our  differences." 

"  I  decline  to  take  part  in  a  shooting  affray,"  Stuart  de- 
clared in  a  husky  voice.  "If  you  came  here  to  murder  me 
you  must  not  expect  me  to  help  you  escape  from  hanging  by 
giving  you  the  chance  to  make  the  plea  of  self-defence." 

As  he  spoke  he  looked  around  in  the  vain  hope  that  some 
chance  passerby  might  come  to  his  rescue.  He  stifled  a  cry 
for  help  which  came  to  his  lips,  for  he  knew  that  his  voice 
could  not  be  heard  in  the  nearest  house.  Although  he  was 
a  man  of  courage  he  was  not  brave  enough  to  contemplate 
the  surrender  of  life  without  feeling  the  fear  of  death.  The 
world  held  him  by  the  strongest  interests.  An  impulse  of 
self-protection  made  him  turn  quickly  and  run  to  the  end  of 
the  platform,  but  Hattakowa  overtook  him,  and,  gripping 
him  by  the  shoulder,  forced  one  of  the  revolvers  into  his  right 
hand. 


246  THE   MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

"  You  cannot  save  yourself,"  the  Indian  said,  quietly.  "  I 
shall  shoot  you  in  the  back  if  you  are  such  a  coward  as  to 
run  away.  I  have  waited  until  now,  for  I  could  not  kill  you 
in  Tishomingo  where  Pakali  and  Miko  might  look  upon 
your  dead  face."  He  glanced  at  his  watch.  "  I  will  give 
you  ten  minutes  in  which  to  write  any  notes  that  you  may 
think  important  in  case  your  business  affairs,  including  your 
interests  in  the  lands  you  have  helped  to  steal  from  the  In- 
dians, may  have  to  be  settled  by  some  of  your  friends." 

Holding  the  revolver  in  his  nerveless  grasp,  Stuart  an- 
swered : 

"  If  I  must  die  there  is  no  reason  for  waiting  ten  minutes, 
unless  I  may  be  able  to  argue  with  you  concerning  my  right 
to  live." 

"  Words  will  be  of  no  avail ;  your  deeds  have  given  you 
the  right  to  die  instead  of  the  right  to  live,"  answered  Hatta- 
kowa.  "  The  ten  minutes  begin  now." 

He  counted  off  the  fifteen  paces  and  stood  with  folded 
arms  while  Stuart  waited  miserably  for  his  small  chance  of 
escaping  the  shot  of  his  enemy.  As  if  it  were  a  panorama 
spread  out  before  him  the  white  man  saw  his  whole  life. 
Already  he  seemed  to  be  looking  back  upon  it  from  the  van- 
tage ground  of  eternity.  The  scenes  revealed  in  that  hour 
were  pleasant  to  look  upon,  and  yet,  turning  from  the  past 
to  the  future,  he  beheld  the  promise  of  days  that  made  exist- 
ence of  two-fold  value  to  him.  Involuntarily  he  pressed  his 
left  hand  to  his  eyes  while  for  a  few  seconds  he  persuaded 
himself  that  he  was  dreaming,  but  when  he  looked  ahead  of 
him  he  saw  Hattakowa  watching  him  with  the  quiet  patience 
which  was  a  last  refinement  of  cruelty.  It  seemed  as  if  an 
hour  had  passed  when  he  saw  down  the  track  the  headlight 
of  an  engine.  Hope  rose  in  his  breast,  but  he  held  himself 
immovable  lest  Hattakowa  should  know  that  he  looked  for 
help  from  the  coming  train.  Brighter  and  brighter  shone 
the  headlight;  nearer  and  nearer  came  the  sound  of  the  car 


THE    PRICE    OF   FORGETFULNESS       247 

wheels.  Stuart  held  his  breath  as  with  drawn  face  he  looked 
toward  the  engine,  but  hope  died  when  its  speed  did  not 
slacken.  He  was  dazzled  by  a  flood  of  light  as  the  train 
swept  on. 

"  We  have  five  minutes  more,"  announced  Hattakowa. 
Something  in  the  Indian's  voice  reminded  the  white  man  of 
the  night  when  they  had  first  met.  Again  Stuart  saw  Pakali. 
Once  more  he  was  young.  The  joy  of  living  possessed  him ; 
he  could  not  lose  it.  Each  year  brought  him  new  pleasures, 
yet  he  was  standing  now  before  a  man  who  would  rob  him 
of  life  and  its  possibilities.  The  instinct  of  self-preservation 
told  him  to  make  one  supreme  effort  to  escape  Hattakowa's 
blood  vengeance.  He  rushed  at  the  Indian  and  had  gripped 
his  right  hand  when  Hattakowa,  who  was  much  the  stronger 
of  the  two,  threw  him  off  and  commanded  him  to  take  his 
place.  In  desperation  Stuart  fired  at  his  enemy  but  the  ball 
whizzed  above  the  Indian's  head. 

Hattakowa  sprang  upon  Stuart  and  wrenched  the  revolver 
from  his  grasp. 

"  For  the  last  time  you  have  exercised  the  white  man's 
privilege  of  dealing  unfairly  with  the  Indian,"  declared 
Hattakowa,  "  but  I  still  give  you  a  chance  for  your  life." 
He  put  Stuart  in  position;  then  he  examined  both  the  re- 
volvers, and,  retaining  the  one  which  Stuart  had  fired,  he 
gave  the  other  to  his  opponent. 

"One!  Two!  Three!  Four!"  Hattakowa  counted; 
and  the  ball  from  Stuart's  revolver  grazed  his  forehead. 
"  Five!  "  Hattakowa  shot  with  a  sure  aim;  he  meant  to  hit 
the  heart  that  had  been  untrue  to  Pakali.  Stuart  staggered, 
and  fell  forward  upon  his  face. 

Hattakowa  went  to  the  white  man's  side,  and,  turning 
him  over,  raised  his  head.  Stuart  drew  a  long  breath  as  if 
he  sighed  to  leave  the  pleasant  world.  His  eyes  closed. 
Hattakowa  knew  that  he  was  dead. 


BEHIND    STONE   WALLS 

THERE  was  still  more  than  an  hour  before  the  coming  of  the 
train  for  which  Stuart  had  been  waiting  when  Hattakowa 
awoke  the  station  agent,  who  was  dozing  in  the  main  room 
of  the  one-storied,  slab-covered  building  that  bore  the  am- 
bitious name  of  "  Hotel." 

"  I  want  you  to  send  some  telegrams  for  me,"  he  said 
calmly.  Going  to  an  ink-stained  deal  table  he  wrote  several 
messages,  one  of  which  was  addressed  to  the  United  States 
marshal  at  Ardmore.  A  number  of  men  had  been  attracted 
to  the  station  by  the  sound  of  the  shots.  There  had  been  a 
time  when  shooting  affairs  had  been  too  common  in  the  Ter- 
ritory to  arouse  more  than  casual  notice,  but  the  lawless 
period  had  passed,  and,  when  it  was  known  that  Hattakowa 
had  killed  a  white  man,  the  settlers  at  the  junction  manifested 
much  excitement. 

Through  the  night  Hattakowa  remained  outside  the  hotel. 
He  had  bound  the  wound  on  his  forehead  with  a  handker- 
chief, and,  as  he  sat  in  the  darkness,  he  became  conscious  of 
the  nervous  reaction  which  follows  intense  excitement.  He 
had  obtained  the  blood  vengeance  of  which  he  had  dreamed 
for  ten  years,  but  he  felt  none  of  the  elation  the  Indian  ex- 
periences when  he  has  vanquished  his  enemy.  Stuart's  re- 
luctance to  give  up  life  left  Hattakowa  with  a  haunting 
memory  of  the  handsome,  pale  face,  the  symmetrically  pro- 
portioned body,  and  the  well-modulated  voice  of  the  white 
man. 

Stuart  had  deserved  death,  and  Hattakowa  was  willing  to 
give  up  his  own  life  in  order  to  compel  the  white  man  to  pay 

248 


BEHIND   STONE   WALLS  249 

the  penalty  for  his  misdeeds.  The  Indian  knew  that  there 
would  be  no  mercy  for  him  when  the  Federal  Court  passed 
judgment  for  exacting  blood  vengeance  from  a  white  man 
who  had  had  influential  political  friends.  He  could  not  un- 
derstand the  white  man's  fear  of  losing  life,  but  he  shrank 
from  the  ignominious  death  of  a  felon.  He  knew  that  his 
trial  would  bring  out  many  facts  concerning  the  causes 
which  led  up  to  the  night's  tragedy.  Through  him  publicity 
might  be  given  concerning  the  many  frauds  of  which  the  au- 
thorities at  Washington  were  ignorant.  He  had  thought  he 
would  be  willing  to  suffer  the  ordeal  of  trial  in  the  Federal 
Courts  if,  without  bringing  Pakali  into  notoriety,  he  could 
expose  conditions  that  were  a  reproach  to  the  United  States. 

Pakali!  His  thoughts  always  came  back  to  Pakali.  He 
could  not  guess  how  her  husband's  death  would  affect  her, 
but  he  knew  that  he  had  cut  himself  off  from  her  forever 
since  her  woman's  heart  would  remind  her  that  the  dead  man 
was  the  father  of  her  son.  He  loved  Miko,  and  he  won- 
dered whether  the  child  could  be  kept  in  ignorance  of  the 
fact  that  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun  had  murdered  his 
father. 

The  savage  in  Hattakowa  had  exacted  the  life  of  his 
enemy;  now  the  influence  of  his  Caucasian  ancestry  domi- 
nated him  for  a  brief  time.  The  last  ten  years  had  taught  him 
that  the  Indian  could  not  obtain  any  recompense  for  his 
wrongs;  he  had  taken  the  law  into  his  own  hands,  and, 
beyond  the  regret  that  he  had  caused  Pakali  added  suffering, 
he  had  no  concern  about  the  consequences  of  his  deed.  With- 
out his  Star  Woman  life  meant  nothing  to  him,  yet  the  man 
who  had  won  her  had  put  her  aside  because  he  had  found 
many  distracting  interests  in  his  world.  Hattakowa  could 
not  comprehend  Stuart's  attitude  toward  life. 

As  the  hours  dragged  by,  now  and  then  he  thought  he  felt 
the  dead  man's  hands  clasping  his  wrist;  the  winds  repeated 
Stuart's  last  sigh  as  he  gave  up  life.  In  the  dull  grey  of  the 


250  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

early  morning  the  men  carried  into  the  hotel  a  stretcher 
covered  with  a  dark  blanket.  Hattakowa  glanced  at  it  in- 
differently, for  the  thing  they  carried  was  no  longer  his 
enemy. 

The  United  States  marshal  came  on  an  early  train  and 
Hattakowa  surrendered  himself.  At  noon,  after  a  coroner's 
jury  had  rendered  a  verdict  declaring  that  Arnold  Stuart 
had  come  to  his  death  by  the  hand  of  Joseph  Dixon,  Hatta- 
kowa went  back  to  Ardmore  with  the  Federal  officer. 

The  news  that  Hattakowa  had  killed  a  white  man  had 
spread  rapidly,  and  at  the  station  the  Indian  saw  the  faces 
of  many  of  his  friends.  Foremost  among  them  was  Judge 
Maury,  who  had  come  to  Ardmore  from  Wauchula  to  at- 
tend court. 

"  This  is  a  bad  business,  a  bad  business!  "  said  the  Judge, 
pressing  close  to  Hattakowa.  "  I've  been  to  see  whether  I 
could  get  you  out  on  bail,  but  there  is  no  help  for  it;  you 
will  have  to  be  locked  up." 

The  three  Federal  prisons  of  the  Territory  long  had  been 
a  reproach  to  a  civilised  country.  The  jail  situated  in  Ard- 
more was  one  of  the  sights  which  tourists  declared  reminded 
them  of  stories  of  mediaeval  times.  It  was  in  the  centre  of 
the  town,  and  thither  Hattakowa  was  driven  in  what  is 
called  a  "  hack  "  everywhere  west  of  the  Mississippi  River. 
Upon  a  sixteen-foot  wall  of  masonry  two  armed  guards  paced 
back  and  forth  all  day  and  all  night.  An  iron-barred  door 
opened  into  this  wall  and  gave  entrance  to  a  long,  narrow 
enclosure.  A  whitewashed  wooden  shack  occupied  the  cen- 
tre of  the  jail  yard,  leaving  a  narrow  passageway  on  each 
side,  and  a  place  ten  or  twelve  feet  long  at  each  end.  In  the 
wooden  shack,  which  was  divided  into  two  rooms,  slept  and 
ate  two  hundred  prisoners.  The  Southern  race  prejudice 
compelled  the  division  of  space  so  that  the  negroes  could  be 
separated  from  the  whites  and  Indians.  At  night,  when 
filthy  mattresses  were  spread  upon  the  floor  of  the  shack, 


BEHIND    STONE   WALLS  251 

there  was  hardly  room  enough  for  the  men  to  crowd  under 
shelter,  even  though  they  lay  in  closely-packed  rows.  Ab- 
solutely no  sanitary  provisions  were  made  for  the  helpless 
prisoners  who,  each  morning,  rolled  up  their  vermin-infested 
bedding  before  they  ate  the  meagre  breakfast,  which  was 
placed  upon  the  dirty  floor,  tin  plates  being  distributed  among 
the  men  as  they  sat  with  legs  drawn  under  them.  Hatta- 
kowa  had  often  climbed  the  narrow  stairs  which  led  to  the 
wall  and  thence  looked  down  upon  the  miserable  occupants 
of  the  enclosure.  All  summer  the  southern  sun  poured  down 
upon  the  whitewashed  roof  and  walls,  and,  after  the  welcome 
rain  came  to  the  relief  of  the  gasping  prisoners,  the  water 
stood  in  puddles  that  moistened  the  accumulated  filth  of 
months. 

When  Hattakowa  and  Judge  Maury  entered  the  jail  en- 
closure on  this  day  after  the  killing  of  Stuart,  their  presence 
was  hardly  noticed,  inasmuch  as  visitors  were  not  uncommon, 
but,  after  Hattakowa  was  left  alone,  and  it  became  plain 
that  the  man  whose  wealth  and  prominence  had  made  him 
known  everywhere  in  the  Nation  was  confined  with  them, 
the  prisoners  made  overtures  of  friendship.  Furtively  they 
glanced  at  the  wound  upon  the  newcomer's  forehead,  but 
they  took  no  notice  of  it  even  when  fresh  bleeding  made 
necessary  the  adjustment  of  a  bandage.  Hattakowa,  who  had 
seated  himself  upon  one  of  the  long  benches  built  against 
the  wall,  made  no  answer  in  return  to  adroit  questions  in- 
tended to  give  him  an  opportunity  for  telling  why  he  was 
there  among  those  who  had  broken  Federal  laws.  Three  or 
four  halfbreeds  and  twro  fullbloods,  all  of  whom  knew  Hatta- 
kowa, gathered  around  him  and,  concealing  whatever  curi- 
osity they  might  have,  began  to  talk  of  the  allotment  and  of 
other  subjects  interesting  to  the  Chickasaws. 

Hattakowa  had  not  been  in  jail  an  hour  before  he  was 
conscious  that  several  persons  were  gazing  at  him  from  the 
wall.  He  recognised  Billy  Brown  and  Cole  Mattison,  who 


252  THE   MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

were  staring  at  him  with  evident  enjoyment  of  the  situation. 
His  choler  rose,  and,  with  the  wish  that  he  might  have  dealt 
with  them  as  he  had  dealt  with  Arnold  Stuart,  he  rose  from 
the  bench  and  went  inside  the  whitewashed  shack.  Here  the 
air  was  stifling.  Fifty  men  were  lying  upon  the  floor,  some 
of  them  napping,  others  smoking. 

Night  came  on.  From  a  place  on  the  bench  against  the 
wall  Hattakowa  watched  the  bedtime  preparations.  The 
jailer  had  given  him  a  mattress  more  unclean  than  most  of 
the  others  he  had  noticed,  but,  even  when  warned  that  the 
signal  for  quiet  would  be  given  in  five  minutes,  the  latest 
arrival  at  the  Ardmore  jail  made  no  effort  to  find  a  place  for 
his  bed.  Instead,  he  obtained  permission  to  remain  on  the 
bench  all  night. 

With  his  head  resting  upon  his  hands  Hattakowa  gazed 
upward  at  the  stars  and  forgot  that  he  was  a  prisoner,  except 
now  and  then  when  the  figures  of  the  guards  crossed  his 
vision  as  they  passed  to  and  fro  upon  the  wall.  In  the  free- 
dom of  the  forest  he  had  often  lain  upon  the  ground  whence 
he  could  look  up  to  the  heavens,  and  now  he  saw  between 
him  and  the  skies  the  face  of  his  Star  Woman,  who  looked 
upon  him  accusingly.  He  glanced  at  his  watch,  and,  at  the 
hour  when  Stuart  had  given  up  life,  Hattakowa  tried  to 
rejoice  because  he  had  obtained  the  blood  vengeance.  A  light 
wind  sweeping  over  the  walls  of  the  prison  seemed  to  bring 
to  him  his  victim's  last  sigh. 

Hattakowa  rose  to  his  feet  and  would  have  paced  the 
narrow  passageway,  but  he  remembered  that  he  dared  not 
disturb  his  fellow  prisoners.  He  lay  down  again ;  his  body 
burned  with  a  fever;  his  throat  was  parched.  Removing  his 
shoes,  he  softly  crept  to  the  big  barrel  that  contained  the  tepid 
rain  water  provided  for  drinking  purposes.  The  odour  of 
rotting  wood  nauseated  him  as  he  dipped  a  cupful  of  the  stag- 
nant water.  He  went  back  to  the  bench  to  dream  of  Pen- 
nington  Creek,  coolly  flowing  over  the  smooth  boulders. 


BEHIND    STONE   WALLS  253 

Long  ago  its  clear  pools  had  mirrored  Pakali's  face  and  his 
own  as  they  leaned  over  to  read  their  future  from  the  col- 
oured pebbles.  Once  as  they  looked  into  the  limpid  depths 
of  the  stream,  Pakali  had  cried  that  she  saw  blood  in  the 
place  where  Hattakowa  rested  his  right  hand.  Laughingly 
he  had  shown  her  how  the  red  sandstone  was  reflected  through 
the  water.  Now  the  ill  omen  had  been  fulfilled.  While  his 
thoughts  taunted  him  in  a  hundred  ways,  Hattakowa  scorn- 
fully told  himself  that  the  Indian  should  have  no  qualms 
about  killing  a  foe,  and  he  reasoned  that  the  white  blood  in 
him  had  made  him  too  tender-hearted.  Stuart  had  but  paid 
the  right  penalty  for  his  ignoble  deeds. 

After  all,  it  was  only  because  of  Pakali  that  Hattakowa 
permitted  himself  to  review  the  incidents  of  the  preceding 
night.  He  would  have  to  forfeit  his  life  as  the  price  of  his 
blood  vengeance,  and  surely  that  was  a  fair  exchange,  one 
which  would  ease  even  the  conscience  of  a  white  man.  In 
the  dim,  leaden  light,  just  before  dawn,  all  the  hideous  de- 
tails of  the  prison  revealed  themselves  with  an  added  look 
of  squalor.  Hattakowa  wondered  how  long  he  would  be 
compelled  to  stay  there,  and  whether  Pakali  would  let  him 
say  good-bye  to  her  before  he  died.  Then  he  remembered 
his  mother,  whose  heart  must  be  breaking  over  his  plight. 

In  the  early  morning  the  prisoners'  activities  diverted 
Hattakowa's  thoughts  from  himself.  The  two  hundred  men 
had  a  system  of  self-government.  A  code  of  strict  laws  was 
enforced  by  a  kangaroo  court,  and  severe  punishments  were 
inflicted  for  any  infraction  of  its  rules.  The  prisoners 
took  turns  in  cleaning  the  shack  and  in  sweeping  the  jail 
yard. 

Breakfast  was  brought  in  several  hours  after  the  rising 
time.  This  meal  consisted  of  hunks  of  fried  mush,  simmer- 
ing in  grease.  When  the  jailer  offered  Hattakowa  his  share 
of  the  rations  the  Indian  contemptuously  declined  to  accept 
the  coarse  fare.  A  liberal  bribe  enabled  him  to  have  a  trayful 


254  THE   MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

of  palatable  food  sent  in  from  Ardmore's  leading  hotel.  Of 
this  Hattakowa  ate  but  little.  When  Judge  Maury  visited 
him  the  Indian's  first  care  was  to  make  arrangements  for  a 
feast  of  meat  and  vegetables  for  all  his  comrades  in  trouble. 
By  ordering  this  from  the  man  who  was  making  three  hun- 
dred per  cent,  profit  on  his  contract  to  feed  the  prisoners, 
Hattakowa  knew  that  no  objections  would  be  offered.  Judge 
Maury  made  but  a  brief  call,  for  he  was  evidently  too  much 
upset  by  the  killing  of  Stuart  to  outline  a  plan  of  defence. 
He  remarked  that  he  would  wait  for  Beaumont  and  Sands, 
whom  he  expected  on  the  noon  train. 

"  You  didn't  sleep  much,  I  reckon,"  said  the  Judge,  as, 
with  a  silk  handkerchief  he  dusted  a  place  on  the  bench  be- 
side Hattakowa.  After  he  had  seated  himself  he  silently 
stared  for  a  time  at  one  of  his  gaitered  feet. 

"  Somehow  I  never  thought  you  would  kill  Arnold 
Stuart,"  he  said,  presently,  "  but  it  was  an  affair  of  honour, 
and,  from  the  standpoint  of  a  Southern  gentleman,  I  must 
say  that  you  did  just  right.  It's  a  wonder  you  waited  so 
long." 

"  If  I  had  killed  him  in  Tishomingo,  Pakali  never  after- 
ward would  have  been  contented  in  the  town  she  has  always 
loved,"  explained  Hattakowa.  "  I  wanted  to  spare  her  as 
much  as  I  could." 

"  That  was  well,  that  was  well,"  agreed  the  Judge,  "  and 
I  warrant  he  was  afraid  to  die." 

"  He  loved  life,"  commented   Hattakowa. 

Judge  Maury  glanced  at  Hattakowa's  forehead,  which 
bore  the  mark  of  the  bullet  Stuart  had  fired  in  his  last 
frenzied  attempt  to  save  himself. 

"  He  tried  to  take  advantage  of  you,  didn't  he?  "  asked 
the  old  lawyer. 

"  He  did  not  wait  until  I  had  counted  five,"  said  Hatta- 
kowa, carelessly. 

"  That  wound,  even  though  it  be  slight,  can  be  made  to 


BEHIND   STONE   WALLS  255 

avail  much  in  your  favour  when  you  are  tried,"  asserted 
Judge  Maury. 

"  I  desire  to  make  no  defence,"  Hattakowa  declared.  "  For 
ten  years  I  waited  for  the  chance  to  kill  the  white  man  who 
had  wronged  Pakali.  I  cannot  expose  my  kinswoman's  sor- 
rows to  save  myself." 

"  You  talk  as  if  you  were  a  madman !  "  exclaimed  the 
Judge,  who  went  off  in  a  dignified  huff. 

In  the  afternoon  Judge  Maury  returned  to  the  jail  with 
Beaumont  and  Sands.  Pakali's  father  looked  pitifully  bent 
and  aged,  and,  owing  to  a  recent  attack  of  rheumatism,  he 
walked  with  difficulty.  He  sank  heavily  upon  the  wall  bench 
before  he  spoke  to  Hattakowa,  who  had  come  forward  to 
meet  him.  Then  he  looked  up  to  say: 

"  Hattakowa,  I  wish  you  could  have  been  less  the  Indian. 
After  all  these  years  we  might  have  let  Arnold  Stuart  live 
out  his  allotted  time.  The  Little  Mother's  religion  taught 
me  to  remember  the  words,  '  Vengeance  is  mine;  I  will  re- 
pay, saith  the  Lord.'  '  The  old  man's  face  had  become  so 
deeply  furrowed  that  the  scar  upon  his  cheek  appeared  to  be 
but  one  of  his  many  wrinkles;  he  had  lost  flesh,  and  showed 
an  extreme  feebleness  of  movement. 

"  If  Stuart  had  not  come  back  to  Tishomingo;  if  he  had 
not  helped  to  rob  every  person  in  the  Nation;  if  he  had  not 
dared  even  to  cast  an  insinuation  upon  your  daughter's  name 
— I  would  have  spared  him  for  betraying  the  trust  you  had 
given  him,"  Hattakowa  answered,  with  the  old  hate  blazing 
in  his  eyes.  "  Now  I  have  set  Pakali  free.  Her  living  sor- 
row, turned  to  the  dignity  of  a  grief  for  the  dead,  may  bring 
her  something  like  serenity  after  I  have  given  my  life  for  the 
life  I  have  taken." 

"  You  shall  not  give  your  life  for  Arnold  Stuart's,"  in- 
terposed Sands.  "  You  had  a  just  provocation,  and  no  jury 
will  convict  you." 

"  It  was  a  premeditated  murder  and  I  am  ready  to  take 


256  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

the  punishment  for  it."     Hattakowa  made  the  statement  in 
a  decided  voice  and  Judge  Maury  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Hush!  How  dare  you  speak  so  recklessly!  "  he  said, 
as  his  florid  face  turned  purple  with  excitement.  "  I  mean 
to  defend  you  as  I  have  never  defended  man  before." 

"  I  don't  want  any  defence,"  Hattakowa  answered.  "  If 
it  were  not  for  my  mother  I  should  rejoice  over  the  fact  that 
death  is  near  to  me." 

"  You  seem  to  have  lost  all  trace  of  common  sense,  Hatta- 
kowa! "  exclaimed  Sands.  "  You  have  done  a  service  to  the 
whole  Nation  by  making  an  example  of  Arnold  Stuart.  I 
am  Indian  enough  to  wish  that  you  had  killed  the  whole 
syndicate.  If  Elisha  Fordham  had  died  ten  years  ago  the 
Chickasaws  might  have  escaped  wholesale  robbery." 

"  I  thought  you  were  reconciled,  Sands,  to  the  fact  that 
we  must  be  victims  of  progress,"  said  Beaumont,  shaking  his 
head  rebukingly. 

"  The  Indian  in  me  rebels  often,"  Sands  answered.  He 
drew  Judge  Maury  aside  to  confer  with  him,  and  Hattakowa 
took  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  ask  Beaumont  about 
Fakali. 

"  She  is  overcome  by  the  horror  of  it  all,"  Beaumont  an- 
swered. "  She  mourns  for  the  man  she  loved  ten  years  ago, 
and  even  reproaches  herself  for  some  of  the  words  she  spoke 
to  him  the  day  before  he  died.  She  grieves,  Hattakowa, 
because  his  blood  is  upon  your  hand." 

"  Pakali  may  live  to  understand  that  I  have  been  her 
liberator,"  Hattakowa  answered,  slowly.  "  It  is  a  galling 
trouble  to  me  that  she  and  my  mother  must  suffer  for  what 
I  have  done,  but  my  mother  is  so  much  an  Indian  that  she 
will  not  blame  me." 

"  You  have  been  to  me  all  that  a  son  could  be,"  Beaumont 
said,  rising  and  putting  his  wrinkled  brown  hands  upon 
Hattakowa's  shoulders.  "  You  have  brought  a  great  sorrow 
to  me." 


BEHIND    STONE   WALLS  257 

;<  Yet,  when  Pakali  suffered  in  the  months  before  Miko 
was  born,  did  you  not  desire  blood  vengeance? "  The 
younger  Indian  asked  the  question  in  a  respectful  tone,  and 
Beaumont  answered: 

"  The  Little  Mother's  religion  restrained  me,  but  I  will 
confess  I  was  often  tempted  to  kill  the  man  who  betrayed 
my  daughter's  faith." 


CHAPTER    XXXHI 
THE   WAY   OF   A   WOMAN 

PAKALI'S  chance  meeting  with  her  husband  had  stirred  every 
emotion  which  she  long  had  tried  to  repress.  She  went  back 
to  Moma  Binna  with  a  feeling  that  she  had  been  face  to  face 
with  the  ghost  of  all  her  lost  hopes.  Arnold  Stuart's  voice 
recalled  the  words  of  love  he  had  spoken  when  she  was  a 
girl ;  the  touch  of  his  hand  made  every  nerve  vibrate.  After 
she  had  shut  the  door  of  her  little  room  she  rebuked  herself 
for  having  spoken  accusingly  to  the  man  who  was  the  father 
of  her  child.  The  mother  love,  which  enters  into  every  love 
a  true  woman  harbours  in  her  heart,  went  out  to  the  white 
man  with  a  rush  of  pity  for  his  weakness.  Although  her 
reason  assured  her  that  it  was  too  late  for  her  to  enter  the 
white  man's  city,  still  she  tormented  herself  with  remorseful 
thoughts.  After  all,  his  had  been  a  great  temptation,  and 
the  white  man  could  not  know  how  much  the  Indian  could 
love.  For  hours  the  world  seemed  blank  to  her,  but  Miko's 
voice  calling  at  her  door  reminded  her  that  she  had  been 
given  a  definite  object  in  life — the  training  of  her  child  to 
be  a  better  man  than  the  father  who  had  dishonoured  her  by 
his  neglect  and  indifference.  She  opened  the  door,  and  in 
the  dusk  of  the  evening  saw  her  son's  head  outlined  against 
the  grey  of  the  sky  as  he  stood  upon  the  porch.  The  head 
was  like  his  father's.  Pakali  turned  to  the  table  upon  which 
stood  one  of  her  mother's  water-lily  candelabra,  and,  striking 
a  light,  drew  Miko  to  a  place  where  she  could  study  his 
features  while  she  listened  as  he  told  her  that  Gee-Haw 
Blikens  had  brought  him  a  pair  of  guinea  pigs. 
The  greatest  tragedies  are  interwoven  with  the  commonest 

258 


THE   WAY   OF   A  WOMAN  259 

incidents  of  life ;  perhaps  that  is  why  the  human  mind  is  able 
to  bear  its  most  poignant  griefs.  Sinking  into  a  low  chair 
Pakali  waited  while  Miko  described  the  fine  points  of  his 
newly-acquired  pets.  The  cleft  chin  and  the  full  under  lip 
were  like  Stuart's,  and  yet  they  lacked  the  weakness  .of  the 
white  man's  features.  Impulsively  Pakali  put  out  her  arms 
to  embrace  Miko,  who  stopped  his  narrative  long  enough  to 
kiss  her. 

"  There,  mother,  dear,  now  you  will  come  out  to  see  the 
guinea  pigs,  won't  you  ?  "  coaxed  the  boy. 

Pakali  shook  her  head  and  Miko  noticed  that  her  face  was 
sad. 

"  You  have  been  so  quiet  ever  since  you  saw  that  stranger 
to-day,"  he  said.  "  I  hope  he  did  not  hurt  your  feelings.  I 
almost  thought  you  had  been  crying  when  The  Man  Looking 
for  the  Sun  and  I  came  back  to  you." 

"  Don't  worry  about  mother,"  Pakali  answered,  with  a 
faint  smile. 

"  I  can't  help  thinking  the  stranger  must  be  a  bad  man," 
observed  Miko,  leaning  his  elbows  upon  the  table  and  resting 
his  chin  in  his  hands.  "  He  made  The  Man  Looking  for 
the  Sun  very  angry  that  night  I  invited  him  to  ride  in  our 
wagon,  and  you  are  unhappy  after  you  have  talked  with  him. 
But  he  was  kind  to  me  the  day  he  came  down  to  the  big 
boulder  where  I  was  playing." 

"  What  big  boulder,  Miko?  "  Pakali  had  leaned  back  in 
her  low  rocking-chair,  which  was  drawn  so  that  she  was  in 
the  shadow  of  a  high  screen. 

"  The  one  down  in  Pennington  Creek  in  the  place  where 
you  will  never  go  with  me." 

"  Did  he  find  you  there?  "  cried  Pakali  with  an  accent 
which  startled  Miko  so  that  he  left  the  table  and  went  to 
lean  against  her  knee. 

"  We  talked  a  long  time  there,"  the  boy  said,  "  and,  oh, 
mother,  he  pointed  out  a  big  crack  in  the  rock  where  someone 


26o  THE    MAN    OF    YESTERDAY 

had  put  in  a  lot  of  little  stones,  and  I  pulled  out  the  stones. 
You  cannot  guess  what  I  found !  " 

Pakali  gripped  the  child's  arm  and  waited  breathlessly  for 
him  to  continue  his  story,  but  he  would  not  say  another  word 
until  she  had  guessed  that  perhaps  an  old  bird's  nest,  or  a 
horse  shoe  had  been  concealed  in  the  rock. 

"  No,  no."  Miko  shook  his  head.  "  It  was  just  a  row 
of  little  sticks,  and  the  stranger  took  one  look  at  them  and 
then  went  away." 

Pakali  rose  hastily.  She  walked  to  the  window,  where  she 
remained  until  she  could  control  her  agitation  enough  to  send 
Miko  away  upon  an  errand. 

The  next  night  when  she  put  Miko  to  bed  in  the  room  that 
for  such  a  brief  time  had  been  his  father's,  she  stepped  to 
the  dressing  table  beside  which  through  all  the  years  had 
hung  the  spurs  once  the  property  of  Stuart.  These  she  re- 
moved, and,  rolling  them  in  the  canvas  hunting  suit,  which 
had  been  allowed  to  remain  in  the  closet,  she  went  out  into 
the  living  room.  The  boy's  father  had  come  and  gone  with- 
out being  recognised.  The  time  had  arrived  when  she  must 
remove  from  Moma  Binna  all  that  reminded  her  of  Arnold 
Stuart.  She  had  thought  he  might  return,  but  he  had  not 
come  near  the  house  where  she  had  lived  alone,  dreaming  of 
him,  longing  for  him,  mourning  for  him.  A  feeling  of  re- 
sentment took  possession  of  her  as  she  realised  for  the  first 
time  that  her  husband  had  returned  to  Tishomingo  on  a  quest 
which  in  no  way  concerned  her  except  so  far  as  she  was  a 
part  of  the  Chickasaw  Nation.  He  had  even  carelessly 
promised  not  to  seek  her.  This  thought  touched  her  pride. 

Pakali  went  to  bed  early,  but  she  could  not  sleep.  Toward 
midnight,  when  half  dozing,  something  aroused  her.  She 
thought  Stuart  spoke  her  name,  and  it  was  as  if  he  walked 
through  the  door  into  Miko's  room.  Her  dream  made  such 
a  vivid  impression  upon  her  that,  slipping  out  of  bed  and 
throwing  a  dressing-gown  around  her,  she  went  to  Miko,  who 


THE   WAY   OF   A  WOMAN  261 

w«  sleeping  in  the  happy  unconsciousness  of  childhood'* 
slumber.  She  kissed  the  boy's  cheek.  As  she  moved  away 
from  his  bed  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  armchair  and  the  stool 
m  the  bay  window.  An  irresistible  impulse  caused  her  to 
sink  upon  the  stool,  and,  stretching  out  he*  arms  so  that  they 
rested  upon  the  chair,  she  hid  her  face  in  the  cushioned  seat. 

"  Suppose  I  should  forget  to  come  back  to  my  Chickasaw 
wife,"  she  heard  Stuart  say  in  a  bantering  tone,  just  as  he 
had  spoken  on  the  day  he  left  her. 

The  breeze  moved  the  window  curtains,  and  Pakali  raised 
her  head.  She  felt  her  husband's  presence  for  a  moment; 
she  thought  she  saw  his  face  wearing  a  look  of  such  fear  that 
the  handsome  features  were  distorted.  She  put  out  her  hand 
as  if  she  would  touch  him,  and  then  the  vision  was  with- 
drawn. Involuntarily  she  spoke  his  name.  The  wind  stirred 
the  curtain  again  and  she  knew  that  she  was  alone.  She 
stood  there  trembling  until  Miko,  laughing  in  a  pleasant 
dream,  broke  the  spell  that  was  upon  her. 

An  hour  after  breakfast  the  next  morning  when  Pakali, 
listless  and  exhausted,  was  reclining  in  an  easy  chair  on  the 
veranda  at  Moma  Binna,  Beaumont  told  her  as  briefly  and 
as  kindly  as  possible,  that  Hattakowa  had  killed  Arnold 
Stuart.  For  a  few  moments  the  whole  world  was  blotted 
out.  When  she  came  back  to  consciousness  someone  was 
bathing  her  head,  and  Miko,  pale  and  big  eyed,  was  rubbing 
her  hand.  Beaumont  lifted  his  daughter  in  his  arms  and 
carried  her  into  her  bedroom. 

"  Be  brave,  little  girl,"  he  whispered,  arranging  her  pillow 
for  her  and  stroking  her  head,  just  as  he  had  done  when  she 
was  a  child.  "  I  don't  know  what  to  say,  but  if  the  Little 
Mother  were  here  she  could  remind  you  of  some  Divine 
promise  that  would  give  you  comfort." 

"  I  know  you  are  grieving  over  Hattakowa,"  Pakali  an- 
swered, "  and  I  am  the  cause  of  all  this  terrible  trouble." 

"  You  must  not  be  morbid,"  her  father  admonished.   "  We 


262  THE    MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

are  all  but  puppets  in  the  hand  of  fate.  Hattakowa  has 
assumed  the  primitive  man's  right  to  punish  a  transgressor. 
Don't  judge  him  too  harshly." 

All  day  Pakali  lay  in  a  darkened  chamber.  At  first  she 
felt  only  the  horror  that  the  knowledge  of  Stuart's  death 
brought  her.  He  had  died  in  the  very  prime  of  life  because 
Hattakowa  sought  vengeance  for  her  wrongs.  Although  she 
was  an  Indian  she  had  never  harboured  bitter  resentment 
against  her  husband.  She  had  mourned  over  her  lost  love. 
After  all,  Stuart's  greatest  fault  had  been  his  weakness.  The 
white  man's  civilisation  corroded  the  human  heart;  it  set  up 
golden  idols  in  the  shrines  where  love  should  be  worshipped. 
Stuart's  shortcoming  was  the  result  of  his  education.  Be- 
fore the  greed  of  gold  and  the  lust  for  power  had  taken  hold 
of  him;  before  he  had  bowed  down  to  the  social  Moloch 
which  exacted  the  sacrifice  of  love  and  duty  to  selfish  aspira- 
tion, he  had  come  to  her,  and  she  would  remember  him  as 
he  was  in  the  days  marked  by  the  flowering  branches  of  the 
dogwood. 

So  Pakali  wept  for  the  Arnold  Stuart  to  whom  she  had 
opened  the  door  of  her  heart.  She  remembered  how  he  had 
come  back  to  her  after  he  had  ridden  away  without  her 
promise  to  be  his  wife.  Through  all  the  ten  years  uncon- 
sciously she  had  waited  for  his  return.  Whenever  a  horse- 
man rode  up  the  hill  she  had  felt  a  quickened  heartbeat,  even 
though  her  reason  rebuked  her  for  clinging  to  a  futile  hope. 
At  night  often  she  had  dreamed  that  he  called  to  her,  and, 
until  in  reality  he  had  come  to  her  there  in  the  road  near 
the  place  where  the  old  grapevine  once  grew,  she  had  been 
ready  to  answer  his  summons,  even  though  as  time  went  by 
she  came  to  understand  that  their  paths  lay  forever  apart. 

For  her  father's  sake  Pakali  used  all  the  self-control  that 
she  could  command.  Within  a  week,  as  if  no  tragedy  had 
touched  her,  she  had  taken  up  her  life  at  Moma  Binna.  To 
Miko  she  preserved  the  calmness  that  gave  the  boy  an  abiding 


THE   WAY    OF   A   WOMAN  263 

trust  in  her  strength,  thus  enabling  her  to  control  him  with- 
out difficulty.  In  these  days  she  managed  never  to  be  alone 
except  at  night. 

Day  after  day  passed  and  no  one  mentioned  Hattakowa's 
name  in  her  presence.  She  had  been  so  much  preoccupied 
with  her  own  sorrow  that  she  did  not  notice  this  strange 
reticence  until  one  evening  when  Miko  thoughtlessly  said  in 
response  to  a  question:  "The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun 
told  me."  The  child  put  his  hand  to  his  mouth,  and,  look- 
ing at  his  mother  made  quick  apology. 

"  Grandfather  told  me  not  to  talk  of  The  Man  Looking 
for  the  Sun  and  I  forgot.  Mother,  where  is  he?  Why 
mustn't  I  talk  of  him?  " 

"  You  must  obey  your  grandfather  without  questioning 
his  commands,"  answered  Pakali. 

Beaumont  had  gone  to  Ardmore  that  day  and  Pakali 
waited  for  the  late  train  in  order  to  ask  him  about  Hatta- 
kowa.  Now  it  flashed  upon  her  that  he  might  be  in  prison. 
Poor  Hattakowa!  It  was  for  her  sake  that  he  had  hated 
Stuart  with  a  twofold  intensity.  To  avenge  her  wrongs 
he  had  killed  her  husband.  For  the  first  time  she  compre- 
hended that  she  had  not  drained  the  cup  of  sorrow,  since 
Hattakowa  might  be  compelled  to  pay  the  extreme  penalty 
in  exchange  for  the  blood  vengeance  he  had  exacted. 

She  was  distraught  by  this  new  terror,  and,  after  Miko 
was  safe  in  bed,  she  went  down  the  hill  to  wait  on  the  bridge 
for  her  father.  In  the  darkness  of  the  early  night  the  waters 
of  Pennington  looked  black.  The  voice  of  the  creek  was 
hushed  by  long,  dry  days  which  had  drunk  so  copiously  from 
pool  and  channel  that  all  the  falls  and  ripples  were  stilled 
in  their  onward  flow.  "  As  long  as  water  runs  "  she  had 
promised  to  love  Stuart,  but  now  the  waters  were  black  in 
the  darkness,  as  black  as  the  pall  that  covered  him  who  had 
become  but  a  sorrowful  memory.  Once  the  waters  had  been 
red  upon  Hattakowa's  hand.  The  recollection  caused  Pakali 


264  THE    MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

to  grasp  the  bridge  railing  in  order  to  steady  herself.  The 
sound  of  wheels  announced  Beaumont's  coming. 

"  Are  you  too  tired  to  walk  up  the  hill  ?  "  Pakali  asked, 
after  she  had  stopped  her  father's  carriage. 

"  I  am  very  weary,"  replied  Beaumont.  "  It  would  be 
much  easier  for  you  to  ride  with  me." 

Pakali  climbed  into  the  seat  beside  her  father  and  waited 
impatiently  until  they  could  be  alone  together. 

"  Father,  I  want  to  ask  about  Hattakowa,"  she  said,  de- 
taining Beaumont,  who  would  have  gone  into  the  house.  "  I 
know  you  have  been  trying  to  spare  me  all  knowledge  that 
may  disturb  me,  but  I  am  strong  enough  to  bear  anything 
now." 

"  Hattakowa  gave  himself  up  to  the  officers  of  the  law. 
He  is  in  the  Ardmore  jail."  Beaumont  gave  the  informa- 
tion grudgingly. 

"  You  have  seen  him  to-day,  haven't  you?  "  Pakali  asked. 

"Yes." 

"  Is  he  sorry  for  what  he  has  done  ?  " 

"  Only  so  far  as  it  makes  you  and  his  mother  suffer." 

"Aunt  Totopehah!  "  Pakali  exclaimed.  "  How  selfish  I 
have  been!  Why  have  I  not  gone  to  comfort  her?  "  Pakali 
put  her  arms  about  her  father's  neck.  "  I  have  acted  as  if 
I  were  the  only  one  troubled,  and  you  have  been  grieving 
as  much  as  anyone.  Forgive  me,  dear,  for  being  so  unmind- 
ful of  you." 

"  There,  there,  don't  bother  about  me."  Beaumont  laid 
a  big  hand  upon  his  daughter's  shoulder.  "  Don't  bother 
about  me,  but  give  Hattakowa  some  measure  of  sympathy. 
He  believes  that  he  has  separated  himself  from  you  forever, 
but  we  must  remember  that  he  acted  under  great  provoca- 
tion, and  that  he  defended  the  honour  of  his  kinswoman." 

"  My  honour?  "  questioned  Pakali,  drawing  away  from 
her  father.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 


THE   WAY   OF   A  WOMAN  265 

"  Arnold  Stuart  cast  an  insinuation  upon  the  parentage  of 
Miko,"  Beaumont  answered  in  a  stern  voice.  "  He  spoke 
his  taunting  words  the  night  he  arrived  in  Tishomingo.  I 
had  meant  not  to  tell  you,  but  you  owe  justice  to  the  living, 
and  Heaven  knows  Hattakowa's  death  may  not  be  far  off. 
So  be  as  kind  as  you  can  to  him." 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 

MARCHAND   OFFERS   AID 

INDIAN  TERRITORY  had  been  the  scene  of  many  tragedies, 
but  for  a  decade  none  had  attracted  more  than  passing  notice 
from  the  newspapers  of  the  United  States  until  the  story  of 
how  Arnold  Stuart  had  met  his  death  at  the  hand  of  a 
Chickasaw  was  chronicled  far  and  near.  The  Chicago  jour- 
nals gave  many  columns  to  the  sensational  discovery  that  the 
lawyer,  politician,  and  club  man,  who  was  supposed  to  be  one 
of  the  most  eligible  bachelors  in  society,  had  lost  his  life 
because  he  had  incurred  the  resentment  of  an  Indian  by 
marrying  and  deserting  a  woman  of  one  of  the  Five  Nations. 
Illustrations,  added  to  large  type,  gave  prominence  to  what 
soon  became  a  celebrated  case.  In  all  the  pictures  the  artists 
freely  indulged  their  imaginations  and'  represented  Hatta- 
kowa  as  a  brave  who  wore  a  war  bonnet  and  carried  a  toma- 
hawk. Stuart's  connection  with  Elisha  Fordham,  who,  since 
he  had  ceased  to  be  a  Member  of  Congress  still  remained  a 
conspicuous  figure  in  national  politics,  drew  the  attention  of 
Federal  authorities  to  his  slayer.  Long  editorials,  which  re- 
viewed the  crimes  and  cruelties  of  the  American  Indians, 
declared  that  speedy  punishment  should  be  administered  to 
the  savage  murderer. 

Many  of  the  newspapers  reached  Hattakowa,  who  chafed 
under  weeks  of  confinement  in  the  jail  of  Ardmore.  He 
read  the  accounts  of  what  had  been  labelled,  "  The  assassina- 
tion of  a  white  tourist  in  Indian  Territory,"  and  he  echoed 
the  hope  that  there  would  be  no  unnecessary  delay  in  punish- 
ing the  slayer.  As  the  days  passed  life  in  the  jail  became 
almost  unendurable.  The  place  was  infested  by  vermin; 
foul  odours  permeated  the  air,  and  there  was  no  such  thing 

266 


MARCHAND    OFFERS   AID  267 

as  privacy.  The  close  contact  with  persons  of  every  degree 
of  degeneracy  was  sickening  to  a  man  who  had  lived  close 
to  nature. 

Mrs.  Dixon  was  a  daily  visitor  at  the  jail.  Her  fortitude 
proved  her  to  be  worthy  of  her  Chickasaw  and  Choctaw 
traditions.  She  had  taught  Hattakowa  the  significance  of 
blood  vengeance  as' it  was  demanded  by  his  ancestors.  From 
the  day  when,  as  a  little  child,  he  had  seen  the  miracle  which 
transformed  a  wounded  eagle  that  beat  its  wings  against  the 
ground  into  a  motionless  mass  of  shining  feathers,  Hatta- 
kowa had  been  schooled  to  look  upon  death  with  a  reverence 
for  its  mystery  and  a  scorn  for  whatever  superstitions  made 
men  fear  it.  After  Mrs.  Dixon  had  told  him  that  she  was 
proud  to  know  he  had  defended  the  honour  of  Pakali,  the 
mother  and  son  never  discussed  Hattakowa's  position  as  a 
prisoner.  They  ignored  every  subject  which  turned  upon 
the  great  fact  that  Hattakowa's  life  was  in  jeopardy. 

It  was  more  than  a  month  before  Pakali's  name  was  men- 
tioned. Then  one  day  Mrs.  Dixon  took  to  the  prison  a  long 
letter  from  Pakali,  who  told  her  Aunt  Totopehah  how  much 
Hattakowa  had  been  to  her,  and  how  deeply  she  grieved 
because  for  her  sake  he  had  done  a  desperate  deed. 

"  She  seems  to  understand  why  I  could  not  let  Stuart 
live,"  said  Hattakowa,  putting  the  letter  into  his  coat  pocket. 
"  I  have  wanted  to  write  to  her,  but,  even  though  a  letter 
from  me  might  be  received  with  charity,  I  have  not  the  power 
to  put  upon  paper  what  I  would  say.  I  was  never  ready  with 
the  pen,  you  know,  mother." 

"  Time  will  put  you  right  in  Pakali  s  eyes,"  Mrs.  Dixon 
answered  with  conviction. 

And  so  Hattakowa  was  content  to  wait. 

Late  one  afternoon,  when  Hattakowa  was  pacing  up  and 
down  the  narrow  alley  between  the  wall  and  the  prison  shack, 
Philip  Marchand  came  to  see  him.  After  the  iron  gate  had 
closed  behind  him,  Marchand  said: 


a68  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

"  Mr.  Dixon,  you  will  not  misunderstand  me  when  I  tell 
you  that  no  one  in  the  world  can  comprehend  as  I  do  your 
desire  to  call  Arnold  Stuart  to  account." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other.  The  delicate,  hand- 
some face  of  the  white  man  was  pale  and  the  Indian  knew 
that  he  was  labouring  under  mental  stress. 

"  You  are  the  last  person  in  the  world  to  sound  the  depths 
of  an  Indian's  wild  nature,"  Hattakowa  answered  brusquely, 
as  he  looked  at  the  well-groomed  figure  which  confronted 
him.  Marchand  typified  the  extreme  refinement  bred  of 
generations  of  wealth  and  culture.  He  was  essentially  mas- 
culine, but  his  physical  strength  had  the  quality  produced  by 
scientific  training.  While  Hattakowa  had  the  large  frame 
and  big  muscles  which  had  been  developed  by  an  outdoor 
life,  Marchand's  body  was  that  of  the  college  athlete.  Each 
man  was  a  good  specimen  of  his  type. 

With  flushed  face  Marchand  waited  a  moment  before  he 
replied  to  Hattakowa.  Weighing  his  words,  he  said: 

"  I  do  not  pretend  to  sound  the  depths  of  your  nature, 
Mr.  Dixon,  but  I  do  believe  that  I  comprehend  the  ruling 
motives  of  your  life.  I  know  the  feeling  which  compelled 
you  to  kill  Arnold  Stuart.  I  have  come  to  offer  you  what- 
ever service  I  can  render." 

The  light  of  a  new  knowledge  burst  upon  Hattakowa,  and 
for  a  moment  he  was  blinded  by  the  discovery  that  Mar- 
chand loved  Pakali.  His  first  impulse  was  one  of  resentment 
because  another  white  man  had  presumed  to  look  with  long- 
ing eyes  upon  his  Star  Woman.  Almost  roughly  he  said : 

"  I  do  not  need  your  help,  Mr.  Marchand." 

"  It  is  true,  you  do  not  need  my  help,"  was  the  reply. 
"  You  have  many  friends  who  will  do  all  in  their  power  to 
obtain  a  just  judgment  for  a  righteous  act.  It  is  I  who 
need  your  friendship,  for  you  can  teach  me  to  deserve  to  be 
counted  as  worthy  of  the  trust  of  the  Chickasaws." 

Hattakowa  made  no  answer.     He  had  looked  upon  Philip 


MARCHAND   OFFERS   AID  269 

Marchand  as  a  careless,  light-hearted  youth  who  had  not  yet 
acquired  the  hereditary  vices  of  the  white  man.  Now  he 
beheld  him  as  a  lover  who  raised  longing  eyes  to  Pakali. 
Abruptly  the  prisoner  dismissed  his  caller,  but  Marchand 
went  away  with  the  assurance  that  he  would  return  the  next 
morning. 

All  that  night  Hattakowa  lay  upon  the  wall  bench  looking 
up  at  the  stars.  He  had  always  been  a  fatalist,  but  now  he 
was  forced  to  learn  that,  by  his  acts,  man  weaves  the  web  of 
his  own  destiny.  By  staining  his  hands  in  blood  he  had  given 
Pakali  liberty ;  he  had  freed  her  from  the  marriage  bonds 
that  held  her  to  Arnold  Stuart.  He  had  been  willing  to 
pay  the  supreme  price  for  the  blood  vengeance  which  he  had 
coveted  through  the  ten  years  of  his  mature  manhood,  but 
Marchand  had  brought  to  him  the  realisation  that  after  he 
had  given  up  his  own  life  Pakali's  liberty  might  mean  happi- 
ness to  a  white  man.  This  idea  was  insupportable.  Only 
one  comforting  thought  came  to  him  as  he  tried  to  look  into 
the  future — the  Indian  woman  loved  but  once.  If  Pakali 
could  be  won,  would  not  his  own  worship  have  availed  some- 
thing? He  had  trusted  Marchand  because  the  Kentuckian 
was  young,  and  now  again  a  white  man  had  betrayed  his 
faith.  The  old  hatred  for  the  race  which  had  persecuted  the 
red  man  burned  in  his  heart  through  the  night,  but  when 
the  dawn  came  Hattakowa  remembered  that  Pakali  would 
live  long  after  he  had  met  death.  He  must  become  accus- 
tomed to  think  of  his  own  life  as  ended,  since  in  a  little  time 
he  must  pay  the  price  of  the  blood  vengeance  he  had  taken. 
As  he  had  suffered  in  loving  Pakali,  could  he  not  feel  sym- 
pathy for  Marchand?  But  there  still  surged  in  him  a  vig- 
orous life,  and  intense  emotions  swayed  him.  He  was  a  man, 
not  one  of  the  saints  that  Pakali's  religion  taught  her  to 
venerate.  "  Pakali,  Pakali!  "  His  spirit  cried  out  for 
Aiahnichih-Choyoh.  Until  the  end  he  could  dream  of  her. 
Perhaps  when  he  was  gone  she  would  need  a  friend  like 


270  THE   MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

Philip  Marchand;  she  and  Miko  might  miss  their  kinsman. 
He  would  try  to  be  just  to  the  white  man.  He  would  probe 
Marchand's  character  and  strive  to  find  him  worthy  of 
Pakali's  trust. 

The  next  day  when  Marchand  went  to  the  prison  Hatta- 
kowa's  mood  had  changed.  The  Kentuckian  found  that  all 
friendly  overtures  were  accepted  in  the  spirit  that  prompted 
them.  The  two  men  talked  a  long  time  about  the  pre- 
liminary hearing  which  was  to  take  place  that  afternoon,  and 
Marchand  announced  that  he  would  like  to  accompany 
Hattakowa  to  the  court  house. 


THE   LAW'S    DELAYS 

IN  Indian  Territory  at  this  period  the  law's  delays  were 
longer  than  in  any  other  part  of  the  United  States.  Hatta- 
kowa's  preliminary  hearing  had  been  postponed  from  time 
to  time  because  Elisha  Fordham  had  influence  enough  to 
have  the  case  held  until  a  certain  date  when  a  Chicago  law- 
yer could  be  present.  On  the  day  of  the  hearing  Ardmore 
was  crowded  with  white  men  whose  curiosity  brought  them 
to  the  town,  and  with  Indians  whose  sympathy  caused  them 
to  assemble  near  the  jail.  The  United  States  marshal  called 
out  the  Indian  police,  and  the  main  streets  were  patrolled 
by  mounted  men. 

The  court  room  was  crowded,  although  admission  had  been 
limited  to  persons  who  had  some  special  claim  to  places  in 
the  hall  of  justice.  Mrs.  Dixon,  severe  in  her  stern  com- 
posure, occupied  a  front  seat  with  Mrs.  Maury.  Judge 
Maury,  with  his  assistant  counsel,  sat  at  one  of  the  tables, 
and  next  to  him  was  the  district  attorney,  half  hidden  behind 
a  pile  of  law  books.  Two  court  reporters  sharpened  their 
pencils  and  waited  listlessly.  The  Judge,  a  handsome,  grey- 
haired  man,  took  his  place  upon  the  bench,  and  Hattakowa, 
accompanied  by  Beaumont,  Sands,  Marchand,  and  the  jailer, 
entered  the  court  room. 

Hattakowa  had  lost  flesh  in  the  weeks  of  his  imprisonment, 
but  after  his  night's  vigil  he  carried  himself  with  a  repose 
which  was  less  forbidding  than  his  usual  hauteur.  He  had 
the  air  of  a  man  who  has  nothing  to  fear,  and  he  showed 
little  interest  in  any  of  the  proceedings  until  the  Chicago 
lawyer  arrogated  to  himself  the  privilege  of  speaking  upon 

271 


272  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

the  subject  of  Arnold  Stuart's  unsullied  reputation  in  the 
business  world.  Although  Judge  Maury  raised  numerous 
objections,  judicial  courtesy  permitted  the  attorney  from  the 
States  to  indulge  in  a  lengthy  harangue  which  brought  out 
a  demonstration  from  Billy  Brown  and  his  clique  of  fol- 
lowers. Judge  Maury  had  given  instructions  to  Hattakowa 
to  plead  not  guilty,  but  when  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  was 
called  upon  to  answer  to  the  charge  of  murder,  he  slowly 
rose  to  his  feet,  scanned  the  faces  in  the  court  room,  and 
answered  in  steady  tones: 

"  For  just  cause  I  killed  Arnold  Stuart." 

"  Do  you  plead  guilty,  or  not  guilty?  "  he  was  asked. 

Judge  Maury  rose  from  his  seat,  and,  leaning  upon  the 
table  before  him,  tried  to  attract  Hattakowa's  attention,  but 
the  prisoner  purposely  looked  away  from  him. 

"  I  desire  to  plead  guilty,"  was  the  answer. 

Judge  Maury  fell  back  in  his  chair.  There  was  a  stir  in 
the  crowd.  Mrs.  Dixon  sat  immovable. 

The  hearing  was  adjourned  and  Hattakowa  was  sent  back 
to  the  prison,  after  Beaumont,  Sands,  and  all  his  friends  had 
accused  him  of  foolhardiness  in  declining  to  take  advantage 
of  every  legal  expedient.  Judge  Maury,  who  sat  with  his 
head  in  his  hands,  made  no  attempt  to  move  from  his  chair 
until  the  court  room  was  almost  empty. 

"  Your  client  didn't  leave  us  much  to  do,"  said  the  Chicago 
lawyer  with  a  laugh. 

"  Perhaps  he  knew  that  it  would  be  useless  to  make  a 
fight  against  the  prejudices  of  the  white  man's  courts  of 
justice,"  replied  Judge  Maury. 

Ogden  Maury,  who  had  gone  over  to  the  prison  with 
Hattakowa,  returned  to  his  father. 

"  It  won't  do  any  good  to  be  upset,  dad,"  he  declared,  put- 
ting his  arm  through  the  Judge's. 

"  I  declare,  I  feel  as  weak  as  if  I'd  had  a  sunstroke!  " 
exclaimed  the  old  lawyer.  "  We  might  have  saved  him,  but 


THE    LAW'S   DELAYS  273 

now  he's  spoiled  his  case.  He  is  afraid  of  bringing  the  Beau- 
monts  into  notoriety,  and,  although  I  promised  to  protect 
Mrs.  Stuart,  he  would  not  take  any  chances.  Still,  I  had 
no  idea  that  he  would  plead  guilty." 

"  Can't  you  make  him  change  his  plea?  "  suggested  Ogden. 
"  Come,  cheer  up,  dad." 

Dreary  days  followed.  A  week  of  summer  heat  came  as 
a  surprise  in  the  autumn  and  the  prison  was  a  place  of  tor- 
ment. Strong  men  became  seriously  ill;  one  of  the  Indians 
died.  The  meagre  rations  were  so  unpalatable  that  the  two 
hundred  prisoners  were  reduced  to  the  starving  point;  the 
water  in  the  cask  was  so  warm  that  no  one  could  drink  it. 
Maddened  by  hunger  and  thirst  the  prisoners  quarrelled  with 
one  another.  They  came  to  hate  the  guards  who  paced  back 
and  forth  upon  the  walls.  Little  groups  of  conspirators 
planned  reckless  acts  which  no  one  had  the  courage  to  carry 
out  because  physical  strength  had  been  reduced  by  famine. 

In  this  period  Hattakowa  had  much  to  think  of  inasmuch 
as  the  date  of  his  trial  had  been  put  forward  on  the  court 
calendar  in  order  that  the  Chicago  attorney  might  be  spared 
a  second  visit  to  the  Territory.  After  the  preliminary  hear- 
ing Judge  Maury  had  gone  back  to  Wauchula  for  a  short 
time,  leaving  Beaumont  and  Sands  in  Ardmore.  Every  morn- 
ing the  two  old  Indians  visited  Hattakowa,  who  gradually 
persuaded  them  that  it  would  have  been  cowardly  for  him 
to  plead  not  guilty,  and,  at  the  end  of  a  week,  they  were 
discussing  the  white  man's  penalty  for  blood  vengeance. 

"  The  Chicago  lawyer  and  the  district  attorney  will  try 
to  make  a  record  in  this  case,"  asserted  Sands.  "  It  is  at- 
tracting national  attention,  and  if  they  compel  the  Indian 
to  pay  the  extreme  penalty  provided  by  law  they  will  earn 
the  commendation  of  Elisha  Fordham  and  other  politicians 
who  are  interested  in  the  land-grabbing  schemes  connected 
with  the  Territory." 


274  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

"  Even  though  you  had  taken  advantage  of  every  means 
of  defence  you  would  be  convicted  of  murder  in  the  first 
degree,  Hattakowa,"  declared  Beaumont. 

"  I  can  accept  the  death  sentence  philosophically,"  said 
Hattakowa,  "  but  I  shrink  from  the  rope  because  hanging 
is  such  an  ignominious  manner  of  ending  life." 

"  We  must  deliver  you  from  that  humiliation,"  said  Sands, 
in  the  steady,  guttural  voice  that  carried  with  it  the  as- 
surance of  power.  "  I  have  been  thinking  out  a  plan  by 
which,  if  you  must  die,  you  can  die  as  befits  a  Chick- 
asaw." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Our  Nation  can  demand  the  right  to  carry  out  whatever 
sentence  is  passed  upon  Hattakowa.  It  is  true  he  has  killed 
a  white  man,  and  therefore  must  accept  Federal  justice  as  it 
is  meted  out  to  the  Indian,  but  we  could  argue  that,  since 
Arnold  Stuart  was  married  to  a  Chickasaw  woman,  we  are 
entitled  to  the  privilege  of  dealing  with  the  convicted  pris- 
oner according  to  our  own  customs." 

"  Do  you  think  they  would  let  me  be  shot?  "  asked  Hatta- 
kowa. 

"  I  believe  that  if  we  wait  until  sentence  is  passed  upon 
you  we  can  have  you  given  into  our  custody  after  we  have 
pledged  ourselves  to  inflict  the  death  penalty,"  answered 
Sands. 

"  You  have  given  me  a  hope  that  takes  away  the  last  ves- 
tige of  regret  which  my  position  causes  me,"  exclaimed  Hatta- 
kowa, standing  with  his  head  lifted  up  and  his  shoulders 
thrown  back  as  if  he  felt  renewed  vitality.  His  drooping 
body  had  shown  the  listlessness  and  weariness  long  confine- 
ment lends  to  the  spirit.  Now  he  was  suddenly  embued 
with  the  confidence  that  by  his  death  he  might  yet  bring  help 
to  his  people. 

"  I  have  been  reluctant  to  die  before  I  could  be  of  service 
to  the  Nation,"  Hattakowa  confessed;  "and,  as  I  have  lain 


THE   LAW'S   DELAYS  275 

here  looking  up  at  the  sky  night  after  night,  I  have  longed  for 
just  one  month  of  freedom." 

"  Ah,  my  boy,  what  could  you  do  from  moon  to  moon  ?  " 
inquired  Beaumont,  unconsciously  assuming  the  paternal 
tone  he  had  used  when  Hattakowa  was  a  child. 

"  Let  the  Chickasaws  give  a  pledge  for  me  and  I  will 
attempt  a  mission  that  may  make  my  life  seem  not  alto- 
gether worthless,"  promised  Hattakowa,  as  he  looked  from 
one  furrowed  face  to  the  other.  In  his  eyes  was  the  light 
of  a  lofty  determination. 

"  Well,  we  can  do  nothing  until  after  the  trial,"  com- 
mented Sands. 

All  that  day  Hattakowa  was  unconscious  of  his  surround- 
ings, and  at  sunset,  when  Marchand  came  to  see  him,  he 
declared  that  the  young  Kentuckian  had  answered  an  inartic- 
ulate summons. 

"  You  offered  to  help  me,"  said  Hattakowa  when  he  had 
made  Marchand  sit  close  to  him  upon  the  bench.  "  Did  you 
mean  what  you  said  enough  to  devote  your  entire  time  to 
my  affairs  until  " — he  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  finished, 
gravely — "  until  I  set  forth  into  the  world  of  shadows?  " 

Marchand  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  the  Indian 
knew  that  he  was  sincere. 

"  I  want  you  to  give  up  your  work  with  the  Dawes  Com- 
mission," HattakowTa  began. 

"  I  resigned  more  than  two  weeks  ago,"  answered  Mar- 
chand. "  I  could  not  longer  endure  assisting  at  the  labour 
of  land  allotment." 

"  That  is  good,"  said  Hattakowa.  "  I  believe  you  were 
sent  to  aid  me.  Will  you  accept  the  management  of  my 
ranch,  and  incidentally  take  charge  of  all  that  concerns  me? 
My  business  must  be  settled  up  with  Judge  Maury's  assis- 
tance, and  I  must  be  aided  to  make  real  a  dream  which  comes 
to  me  night  after  night  when  I  am  shut  within  these  walls." 

Marchand  was  too  much  surprised  to  answer  immediately. 


276  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

"  You  shall  become  my  partner,"  said  Hattakowa,  as  if  to 
give  Marchand  assurance  of  financial  support. 

"  Believe  me,  the  money  consideration  did  not  cause  me 
to  hesitate,"  Marchand  replied.  "  An  uncertainty  concern- 
ing my  capabilities  makes  me  slow  to  accept  your  offer." 

"  I  know  what  your  business  capabilities  are.  If  you  do 
not  mind  staying  at  the  ranch  near  Tishomingo  we  can  easily 
come  to  an  agreement,"  said  the  Indian. 

"  Nothing  would  please  me  better  than  a  ranch,"  asserted 
Marchand.  "  Remember,  I  am  a  Kentuckian  with  a  Ken- 
tuckian's  love  for  the  outdoor  life,  and  the  Kentuckian's  ap- 
preciation of  fine  horses." 

They  talked  for  a  long  time.  Marchand  remained  in  Ard- 
more  several  days,  and  when  he  left  the  town  he  went  to 
Hattakowa's  ranch. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI 

MIKO    ASKS    QUESTIONS 

As  the  weeks  passed  Pakali  devoted  more  and  more  time  to 
the  school  at  Moma  Binna  and  she  watched  Miko  with  the 
fear  that  someone  would  tell  him  the  story  of  how  his  father 
had  been  killed  by  Hattakowa.  The  first  few  weeks  she 
made  excuses  for  keeping  him  away  from  his  classmates,  but 
when  he  passed  the  first  day  after  his  return  to  school  with- 
out learning  anything  about  the  tragedy  which  touched  the 
inmates  of  Moma  Binna,  she  gradually  relaxed  her  vigilance, 
although  she  could  not  dismiss  from  her  mind  the  dread  of 
some  chance  enlightenment.  Beaumont  went  often  to  Ard- 
more,  but  between  father  and  daughter  there  was  a  guarded 
silence  concerning  his  trips.  With  a  heavy  heart  Pakali  saw 
that  her  father  was  becoming  more  and  more  bowed  under 
the  weight  of  trouble  that  he  bore.  To  her  had  come  a 
merciful  reaction  after  the  first  intense  agony  of  grief  over 
Stuart's  terrible  death.  She  had  suffered  until  she  had  ex- 
perienced the  uttermost  pang,  then,  with  a  sense  of  doubled 
pain,  she  took  up  the  daily  task  that  she  had  set  for  herself. 
As  time  went  by  she  thought  more  and  more  of  Hattakowa. 
Her  father's  plea  that  she  would  judge  him  mercifully  had 
its  effect.  Although  she  seldom  spoke  of  her  kinsman  she 
kept  herself  informed  concerning  him.  When  she  heard  that 
he  had  deliberately  pleaded  guilty  at  the  preliminary  hearing, 
the  horror  of  his  possible  fate  overwhelmed  her.  He  was  so 
splendidly  alive;  he  had  such  strength,  such  magnificent 
vitality,  that  the  possibility  of  his  life  being  taken  from  him 
came  to  her  with  a  distinct  meaning  quite  apart  from  her 
personal  interest  in  him.  George  Beaumont  was  too  honest  a 
man  to  offer  sympathy  in  the  form  of  false  hopes  for  his 

277 


278  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

final  escape  from  punishment.  He  counselled  Pakali  to 
summon  to  her  aid  all  the  patience  and  courage  that  was  hers 
by  right  of  heritage  from  her  Chickasaw  ancestry,  and,  for 
her  father's  sake,  she  tried  to  make  no  sign  of  her  suffering. 

The  day  of  Hattakowa's  trial  came  and  in  a  state  of  fever- 
ish excitement  Pakali  went  about  her  morning  tasks.  In  the 
afternoon  she  took  Miko  for  a  walk  upon  one  of  the  hills. 
At  a  place  where  a  group  of  fir  trees  clung  to  the  rocks  she 
rested  while  the  boy  hunted  squirrel's  nests.  It  was  a  grey 
day.  In  the  stillness  of  the  woods  she  unconsciously  listened 
for  voices  she  could  not  hear.  Long  ago,  when  she  had  stolen 
away  to  weep  over  Stuart's  absence,  Hattakowa  had  found 
her  retreat.  Even  while  she  thought  of  that  evening  she 
imagined  that  the  tread  of  a  horse  stirred  the  dead  leaves  in 
the  road  below  her.  She  Lad  missed  Hattakowa  often  since 
he  had  ceased  to  be  her  frequent  companion;  she  knew  that 
his  love  had  glorified  her,  even  though  she  had  rejected  it. 
She  had  not  been  worthy  of  such  unwavering  devotion.  To 
that  love  Hattakowa  was  to  surrender  life.  She  sprang  to 
her  feet.  The  pain  of  it  all  overcame  her.  She  looked 
around  for  Miko,  and  she  saw  coming  toward  her  Marchand, 
who  had  not  been  at  Moma  Binna  since  Hattakowa's  im- 
prisonment. 

"  I  would  not  have  intruded  upon  you  had  I  not  been  the 
bearer  of  a  message,"  said  Marchand.  "  I  come  from  Ard- 
more." 

Pakali's  eyes  gave  him  the  question  she  could  not  speak. 

"  Mr.  Dixon  desired  me  to  tell  you  that  he  is  quite  satis- 
fied with  the  verdict  brought  in  this  noon.  There  was  no 
trial,  for  he  pleaded  guilty  again,  and,  after  the  barest  for- 
malities, sentence  was  pronounced." 

Pakali  stifled  a  cry. 

"  I  cannot  bear  it !  I  cannot  bear  it !  "  she  repeated  again 
and  again  as  she  strove  to  realise  that  the  dreaded  death 
penalty  had  been  legally  demanded  for  Hattakowa. 


MIKO   ASKS   QUESTIONS  279 

"  Your  kinsman  is  likely  to  have  a  period  of  freedom," 

said  Marchand.  "  He  wishes  you  to  believe  that  before " 

he  hesitated — "  before  the  end  comes  all  whom  he  loves  will 
be  reconciled  to  his  going  away." 

Too  weak  to  stand,  Pakali  sank  upon  the  ground,  and, 
while  Marchand  waited  for  her  to  speak,  Miko,  accompanied 
by  a  ragged  boy,  came  running  toward  her. 

"  Mother,  mother,"  he  called,  "  I  have  something  to  tell 
you."  Wide-eyed  and  trembling  with  excitement,  Miko 
dragged  forward  the  boy  who  tried  to  escape  from  him. 
"  Tommy  Blikens,  who  was  out  on  the  hill  gathering  wood, 
told  me  that  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun  is  in  jail.  I  hit 
him  across  the  mouth,  but,  while  he  cried  like  a  baby,  he 
shouted  that  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun  had  killed  my 
father,  and  he  said  I  should  ask  you." 

Tommy  Blikens  cowered  before  Pakali,  who  had  thrown 
her  arms  around  her  son. 

"  Go  away  from  here,  Tommy,"  she  commanded,  and 
the  freckle-faced  son  of  Gee-Haw  Blikens  wasted  no  time  in 
running  over  the  rocky  hillside. 

Miko,  gazing  into  his  mother's  face,  said: 

"  Where  is  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun?  " 

"  He  is  in  prison,  Miko,"  answered  Pakali.  "  He  is  to 
give  up  his  life  because  he  thought  your  father  deserved 
punishment  for  wronging  us — you  and  me." 

"  Then  he  is  not  a  murderer?  "  said  Miko. 

"  According  to  the  Indian  tradition  he  is  a  brave  who 
defended  his  kinfolk,"  explained  Pakali.  "  He  killed  your 
father  because  for  many  years  you  and  I  were  neglected. 
The  Indian  has  different  ideas  from  the  white  man;  he  does 
not  hold  life  so  dear.  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun  did 
what  he  believed  to  be  right." 

Miko  thought  for  a  moment. 

"  Who  was  my  father?  "  he  questioned. 

"  He  was  the  stranger  who  talked  to  you  down  by  Pen- 


28o  THE   MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

nington  Creek;  the  man  .whom  you  met  at  the  railway 
station." 

"  That  man  was  kind  to  me.  I  liked  him,"  declared 
Miko.  "  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  he  is  dead !  "  The  child's  lip 
trembled  and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  thus  it  happened 
that  Arnold  Stuart's  son  mourned  for  him  sincerely,  even 
though  his  grief  lasted  but  a  brief  time. 

"  Why  did  no  one  tell  me  the  stranger  was  my  father?  " 
the  child  questioned,  as  one  who  demanded  to  know  why 
he  had  been  defrauded  of  a  natural  right. 

"  We  thought  it  was  best  to  keep  your  mother's  troubles 
from  you  until  you  were  older,"  Pakali  explained  with  a 
break  in  her  voice,  and  Miko,  putting  his  arms  around  her, 
kissed  her  with  many  a  word  of  endearment. 

As  soon  as  he  heard  Miko  ask  about  his  father  Marchand 
had  walked  away  for  a  little  distance.  Now  he  came  near 
to  the  mother  and  son  as  they  sat  upon  the  ground  beneath 
one  of  the  fir  trees. 

"  It  is  growing  late,"  he  said.  "  We  would  better  walk 
toward  Moma  Binna."  He  helped  Pakali  to  rise,  and,  with 
a  delicate  tact  that  was  one  of  his  characteristics,  began  to 
talk  to  Miko  of  the  nuts  hanging  upon  the  brown-leaved 
trees,  of  the  sumach,  still  red  with  the  splendour  of  autumn 
colour,  and  of  the  squirrels  that  made  but  scanty  preparation 
for  the  mild  southern  winters. 

Miko's  replies  showed  his  preoccupation,  and,  as  soon  as 
there  was  a  brief  silence,  he  asked  the  question  upon  which 
he  had  been  pondering. 

"  Mother,  may  I  go  to  see  The  Man  Looking  for  the 
Sun?  I  want  him  to  tell  me  why  he  killed  my  father.  I 
love  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun,  and  he  will  explain 
what  Indian  sign  told  him  to  kill." 

"  If  your  grandfather  thinks  it  is  right,  you  shall  go  to 
Ardmore,  and  you  shall  see  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun," 
Pakali  promised. 


MIKO   ASKS   QUESTIONS  281 

"  I  think  Miko  has  solved  the  problem  of  how  he  may 
best  learn  the  tragic  facts  that  touch  his  life,"  said  Pakali. 
"  He  has  enough  Chickasaw  blood  in  him  to  feel  certain 
things  that  cannot  be  explained  in  words." 

"  Yes,  he  will  be  a  brave  worthy  of  the  Chickasaws," 
answered  Marchand;  and  Miko,  glancing  from  his  mother 
to  the  white  man,  vaguely  realised  that  a  great  responsibility 
rested  upon  him. 

They  walked  on  through  the  brown  fields,  and  it  was 
not  until  they  had  entered  the  grounds  of  Moma  Binna  that 
Marchand  told  Pakali  he  had  taken  charge  of  Hattakowa's 
affairs. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  to  be  my  kinsman's  trusted  agent," 
Pakali  said,  with  such  sincerity  as  to  leave  no  doubt  of  her 
approval. 

After  the  evening  train  came  in  the  whole  town  of  Tish- 
omingo  heard  of  Hattakowa's  sentence.  At  the  post-office 
the  news  was  repeated  from  man  to  man  and  little  groups 
gathered  beneath  the  electric  light  in  front  of  the  hotel. 
There  was  plainly  a  reaction  in  sentiment,  for  even  the  local 
speculators,  who  had  found  Hattakowa  one  of  the  most 
stubborn  of  the  Indian  obstructionists,  declared  that  he  had 
just  provocation  for  the  killing  of  Arnold  Stuart.  Southern 
traditions  justify  the  protection  of  women  at  any  cost,  and 
those  who  heard  how  Pakali  had  been  deserted,  and  how 
Arnold  Stuart  had  returned  to  the  Territory  in  order  that 
he  might  promote  a  scheme  to  obtain  possession  of  large 
tracts  of  Indian  lands,  admitted  that  the  white  man  deserved 
death.  Even  though  Hattakowa  had  held  himself  aloof 
from  the  enterprising  settlers  who  were  booming  Tishomingo, 
he  had  won  the  respect  of  every  intelligent  white  man. 

A  late  comer  to  the  hotel  attracted  attention.  It  was 
Ogden  Maury,  who  had  made  the  trip  from  Ardmore  with 
Beaumont,  because  the  old  Indian  was  almost  prostrated  by 
the  strain  of  the  court  scene.  Ogden  Maury  had  seen  Beau- 


282  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

mont  safe  inside  the  door  of  Moma  Binna,  and  now,  elbow- 
ing his  way  through  the  crowd,  he  reached  the  doorway  of 
the  hotel.  Here  someone  stopped  him  to  ask  about  the 
trial.  Maury  quickly  felt  the  sympathy  of  those  who 
awaited  tidings  from  him. 

"  Joseph  Dixon  would  not  permit  us  to  defend  him," 
said  Maury.  "  He  desired  to  give  a  life  for  a  life,  and  so 
he  must  die  within  thirty  days.  Although  he  carries  on  his 
head  the  scar  of  a  wound  made  by  Arnold  Stuart's  prema- 
ture shot,  he  declined  to  let  the  truth  be  known,  for  he 
avenged  more  wrongs  than  I  may  mention." 

A  North  Carolina  lawyer,  who  stood  upon  the  edge  of 
the  sidewalk,  cheered  for  Joseph  Dixon,  and  the  cry  was 
taken  up  by  the  crowd. 

The  next  day  Beaumont  was  too  much  exhausted  to  leave 
his  bed,  and  Miko,  who  had  gained  consent  to  visit  Hatta- 
kowa,  asked  if  he  might  ride  to  the  ranch  whence  he  could 
go  to  Ardmore  with  Marchand.  Permission  was  given  be- 
cause, as  Beaumont  repeated  again  and  again,  there  was  no 
time  to  be  lost. 

So  it  happened  that  the  second  day  after  Hattakowa  was 
sentenced  Marchand  went  to  the  jail  with  Miko. 

The  child  made  no  comment  when  he  saw  the  heavy  doors 
swing  open  so  that  he  might  enter  the  crowded  prison  yard. 
He  was  quick  to  notice  that  Hattakowa  looked  haggard 
and  thin,  but  the  face  of  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun 
brightened  when  he  saw  the  boy. 

"  I  have  missed  you  for  more  than  a  moon,"  said  Miko, 
standing  before  Hattakowa.  The  child's  face  had  taken  on 
a  new  gravity,  and  his  manner  had  something  of  a  sweet 
dignity,  which  reminded  Hattakowa  of  Pakali. 

"  It  has  seemed  as  if  the  grass  had  had  time  to  die  and 
to  become  green  again  since  last  I  saw  the  Little  Chieftain," 


MIKO  ASKS   QUESTIONS  283 

answered  Hattakowa,  waiting  anxiously  to  learn  what  the 
child's  attitude  toward  him  would  be. 

"I  did  not  know  where  you  were  until  yesterday,"  ex- 
plained Miko.  "  No  one  told  me,  and  I  just  happened 
to  find  out." 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  am  shut  in  here?  "  asked  Hatta- 
kowa. 

"  I  know  what  you  did."  The  child  looked  at  him  with 
Pakali's  eyes,  yet  there  was  no  reproach  in  his  glance;  "  I 
know  what  you  did,  but  my  mother  let  me  come  to  ask  you 
why  you  killed  my  father." 

Why?  The  child  Hattakowa  loved  had  come  to  judge 
him.  With  earnest  gaze  Miko  looked  up  at  the  slayer  of 
his  father.  Hattakowa,  after  scorning  those  whom  the 
United  States  Government  had  appointed  to  weigh  and  to 
measure  his  deed  according  to  the  law,  now  trembled  before 
the  son  of  his  Star  Woman. 

"  The  Indian  believes  that  when  a  man  has  broken  a 
pledge,  or  wronged  a  woman,  he  is  no  longer  worthy  to 
live."  Hattakowa  spoke  slowly.  "  According  to  our 
Chickasaw  and  Choctaw  traditions  the  kinsman  of  a  woman 
who  is  wronged  has  the  right  to  take  blood  vengeance." 

"And  how  was  my  mother  wronged?"  Miko  would 
have  touched  Hattakowa's  right  hand,  but  it  was  drawn 
away  because  the  Indian  remembered  that  it  was  stained 
with  the  blood  of  the  boy's  father. 

"  The  white  man,  who  promised  to  love  and  to  cherish 
and  to  care  for  your  mother  until  she  died,  broke  his  pledge. 
He  went  away  and  forgot  her.  He  would  not  come  back 
even  when  she  was  ill." 

"  But  he  did  come  back  to  Tishomingo,  and  perhaps  he 
was  sorry." 

"  He  came  back  to  help  his  friends  take  our  lands 
from  us." 


284  THE    MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

Miko's  eyes  wandered  beyond  Hattakowa  to  the  rough 
men  who  were  his  kinsman's  fellow  prisoners. 

"  It  seems  as  if  you  did  right,"  the  boy  decided,  after  a 
moment's  reflection,  "  but  why  are  you  in  prison?  " 

"  Because,"  replied  Hattakowa,  with  a  touch  of  his  old 
contempt  for  the  changing  order  of  things  in  the  Territory; 
"  because  the  white  man  holds  it  but  a  light  offence  to  desert 
wife  and  children,  and  because  he  calls  blood  vengeance  a 
crime." 

Hattakowa  raised  his  face  to  the  patch  of  sky  above  the 
prison  walls  and  for  a  moment  forgot  his  surroundings  while 
he  felt  again  the  fierce  spirit  of  the  avenger. 

Miko  touched  him  upon  the  arm. 

"  Does  blood  vengeance  help  those  who  are  wronged  ?" 
the  boy  asked.  "  My  mother  is  very  sad,  Man  Looking  for 
the  Sun." 

Does  blood  vengeance  help?  Hattakowa  repeated  the 
question  to  himself.  In  the  days  of  his  imprisonment  he 
was  coming  to  comprehend  that  blood  vengeance  meant  not 
alone  punishment  for  the  offender,  but  sorrow  for  those 
whose  wrongs  demanded  action  on  the  part  of  the  avenger. 
The  white  man's  creed  of  toleration  had  altered  the  code  so 
that  woman  must  suffer  without  redress.  Hattakowa  bowed 
his  head. 

"  I  have  asked  too  many  questions,"  said  Miko,  when  he 
saw  that  Hattakowa  was  silent.  "  The  Little  Chieftain 
must  not  be  troublesome,  but  Miko  is  sad  since  his  mother 
told  him  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun  must  give  up  his 
life." 

"  Hush,  my  boy."  Hattakowa  roused  himself  from  his 
abstraction.  "  Let  us  talk  of  the  woods  and  the  creek.  It 
is  almost  time  for  the  wild  turkey  hunt  you  and  I  were  to 
enjoy  together." 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

RESPITE 

FOR  many  days  George  Beaumont  and  Henry  Sands  had 
been  working  out  a  plan  by  which  the  Chickasaw  Nation 
could  assume  the  responsibilities  of  Hattakowa's  custody.  As 
soon  as  they  knew  that  Hattakowa  would  make  no  defence 
and  that  sentence  of  death  must  therefore  be  passed  upon  him, 
they  prepared  a  petition  to  the  Federal  Court.  This  docu- 
ment, which  bore  the  names  of  the  leading  men  of  the  Na- 
tion, asked  that  the  prisoner  who  had  killed  Arnold  Stuart, 
be  delivered  to  the  tribal  authorities  on  condition  that  the 
Nation  pledge  itself  to  inflict  the  death  sentence  according 
to  the  manner  established  by  the  Indian  laws.  Although 
jurisdiction  in  criminal  cases  had  been  withdrawn  from  the 
Chickasaws,  the  plea  was  made  that  exception  be  taken  in 
this  instance  in  which  the  victim  was  entitled  to  partial  recog- 
nition as  an  intermarried  citizen.  Arnold  Stuart  had  never 
qualified  as  a  member  of  the  Chickasaws,  but  he  was  the 
father  of  a  boy  duly  adopted  by  the  legislature.  He  had 
been  slain  by  the  kinsman  of  the  wife  he  had  deserted. 
Joseph  Dixon,  upon  whom  the  death  sentence  had  been 
passed,  had  made  no  effort  to  defend  himself,  and  had 
announced  that  he  was  ready  to  pay  the  price  of  blood  ven- 
geance. For  these  good  and  sufficient  reasons  the  Chicka- 
saw Nation  prayed  that  it  might  have  the  privilege  of  carry- 
ing out  the  white  man's  sentence  according  to  the  red  man's 
methods. 

Judge  Maury  forwarded  a  copy  of  this  document  to  the 
Department  of  the  Interior  the  day  Hattakowa  was  sen- 
tenced. The  Secretary  was  prepared  to  take  special  notice 

285 


286  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

of  the  case  when  it  was  referred  to  him  by  the  Judge  of  the 
Southern  District  of  Indian  Territory. 

The  request  from  the  Chickasaw  Nation  was  so  unusual 
that  one  of  the  Secretary's  assistants  mentioned  it  to  Gen- 
eral Chillingsworth,  who  was  no  longer  an  attache  of  the 
Department,  although  his  advice  often  was  sought. 

"  The  United  States  Government  ought  to  prevent  the 
Heath  sentence  from  being  inflicted,"  declared  the  General, 
who  showed  the  greatest  perturbation  when  he  heard  that 
the  law  gave  Hattakowa  but  a  month  of  life.  Back  and 
forth  he  turned  the  pages  of  the  strange  petition.  As  he 
read  it  the  veins  swelled  in  his  forehead. 

"  This  man,  Joseph  Dixon,  is  the  Chickasaw  who  was 
elected  governor  several  years  ago.  He  was  defrauded  of 
his  place  by  the  native  party  which  is  the  instrument  of 
crafty  politicians,  who  are  using  the  United  States  Govern- 
ment for  their  personal  schemes  to  plunder  the  red  men." 

The  department  attache  smiled  indulgently  upon  the  old 
soldier,  as  he  replied: 

"  Ever  since  you  made  that  first  trip  to  the  Territory, 
General  Chillingsworth,  you  have  been  such  an  enthusiastic 
partisan  of  the  Indians  that  I  am  justified  in  doubting  your 
judgment.  A  lot  of  sentiment  is  being  wasted  nowadays 
upon  the  '  vanishing  race  '  which  has  been  an  expense  and  a 
nuisance  to  the  United  States  Government  ever  since  the 
establishment  of  the  Republic." 

"  The  vanishing  red  race  understands  the  impossibility  of 
overcoming  the  prejudice  of  the  encroaching  white  race," 
General  Chillingsworth  replied.  "  But  we  need  not  dis- 
cuss the  whole  Indian  question.  What  do  you  intend  to 
do  with  this  petition  ?  " 

"  It  will  cause  a  lot  of  trouble  if  the  Department  grants 
the  plea  of  these  Chickasaws,"  the  attache  remarked, 
carelessly.  "  I  think  it  is  best  not  to  interfere  with  the 
case." 


RESPITE  287 

"  I  know  it  would  be  wise  in  the  United  States  Govern-  .- 
ment  to  let  the  Indians  execute  this  man  Dixon,  who  is  a 
splendid  fellow,  wealthy,  well  educated,  and  a  gentleman  in 
the  widest  sense  of  the  word,"  said  the  General. 

The  Secretary's  assistant  smiled  another  indulgent  smile.; 

"  I'll  think  it  over,"  he  promised.     "  As  soon  as  I  have  a! 
chance  I  will  ask  the  Secretary  to  take  up  the  matter." 

"There's  no  time  to  be  lost,"  warned  the  General.' 
"  Joseph  Dixon  has  been  confined  in  the  Ardmore  jail  for 
many  weeks.  It  is  a  prison  that  would  make  the  officials 
of  Siberia  blush.  Since  Dixon  is  to  live  so  short  a  time, 
turn  him  over  to  his  people  as  soon  as  possible.  You  will 
pardon  an  old  man  for  seeming  presumptuous  in  giving  ad- 
vice, but,  as  a  favour  to  me,  will  you  not  see  that  this  case 
has  special  attention  ?  " 

The  Secretary's  assistant  considered  it  worth  while  to 
humour  an  old  man,  and,  in  order  to  avoid  further  impor- 
tunity, he  made  the  desired  promise. 

Thus  it  happened  that  a  week  later  the  Governor  of  the 
Chickasaw  Nation  gave  to  the  Secretary  of  the  Interior,  rep- 
resenting the  United  States  Government,  a  pledge  that,  on 
the  thirtieth  day  of  November,  Joseph  Dixon  should  be  pub- 
licly shot. 

When  the  doors  of  the  prison  opened  upon  Hattakowa, 
he  was  met  by  all  the  Chickasaw  officials.  Beaumont,  Sands, 
Marchand,  and  Judge  Maury  had  gone  to  the  jail  at  an 
early  hour.  They  found  Hattakowa  distributing  among  his 
fellow  prisoners  the  numerous  possessions  which  had  added 
to  his  comfort.  He  greeted  his  friends  with  a  cheerfulness 
that  would  have  been  natural  if  he  had  been  going  out  to 
meet  life  instead  of  death. 

"  As  soon  as  I  see  the  rolling  prairies,  the  stretches  of 
timber  land,  and  the  clear  waters  of  Pennington  Creek  I 
shall  forget  all  the  horrors  of  this  place,"  he  said,  as  he 


288  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

waited  inside  the  iron  gate.  "  I  mean  to  make  the  best  of 
the  days  still  belonging  to  me." 

Judge  Maury  looked  down  at  his  gaitered  feet,  and  it 
was  as  if  Marchand  saw  death  hand  in  hand  with  Hatta- 
kowa.  Neither  of  the  old  Indians  showed  that  he  compre- 
hended what  was  in  the  condemned  man's  mind. 

They  stood  near  the  younger  Chickasaw,  waiting  pa- 
tiently until  the  hour  of  his  freedom  should  arrive.  The 
key  turned  in  the  padlocked  gate.  Once  more  Hattakowa 
shook  hands  with  the  prisoners.  The  iron  hinges  grated. 
Outside,  the  Chickasaws  cheered.  On  the  wall  the  guards 
stopped  their  monotonous  march  as  they  watched  Hattakowa 
step  out  into  the  narrow  quadrangle,  where  his  friends 
greeted  him  with  a  demonstrativeness  unusual  among  Indians. 
In  the  crowd  were  many  fullbloods,  conspicuous  among 
whom  was  Jimmy  Sunfish.  John  Oaktree's  sons  wrere 
there,  bringing  messages  from  their  aged  father.  Last  of 
all,  Cole  Mattison  pressed  forward  to  offer  his  hand. 

"  Blood  is  thicker  than  water,"  he  said. 

Hattakowa  and  the  Chickasaw  officials  went  to  Tisho- 
mingo  on  the  train  which  left  Ardmore  within  an  hour. 
Beaumont,  Sands,  Marchand,  and  Judge  Maury  accom- 
panied the  party,  but  they  went  into  a  separate  car,  where 
they  could  discuss  many  things  which  concerned  Hattakovva. 

When  Tishomingo  was  reached,  several  hundred  men  of 
the  Nation  waited  to  escort  Hattakowa  to  the  capitol,  where 
he  gave  his  promise  to  appear  before  sundown  on  the  thir- 
tieth day  of  November  at  a  place  which  should  be  selected 
by  the  Governor,  there  to  meet  death,  according  to  the 
tribal  law  inscribed  upon  the  statute  books  of  the  Chickasaw 
Nation. 

It  was  an  hour  before  Hattakowa  could  leave  the  friends 
who  gathered  around  him  on  the  capitol  steps.  The  full- 
bloods  showed  toward  him  the  pride  they  would  have  felt 
for  a  chief  who  returned  from  a  victory.  He  had  proved 


RESPITE  289 

that  he  had  not  the  white  man's  fear  of  death ;  he  had  shown 
that,  while  the  white  man's  law  might  take  away  his  life, 
it  could  not  break  his  spirit.  He  had  been  chosen  their 
Governor,  and  the  Federal  authorities  had  decided  against 
him,  but  he  was  by  nature  a  leader,  and,  although  he  had 
been  educated  in  the  white  man's  schools,  and  had  passed 
months  in  the  white  man's  cities,  he  was  always  an  Indian. 
In  other  halfbreeds  they  had  resented  the  metamorphosis 
wrought  by  civilisation,  but  Hattakowa's  individuality  al- 
ways had  been  so  strong  that  his  fashionable  dress,  his 
polished  manners,  and  his  luxurious  way  of  living  had  been 
accepted  without  criticism,  for  was  he  not  the  Great  Hunter? 
And  did  he  not  cherish  all  the  traditions  of  his  race?  The 
white  man's  religion  had  not  supplanted  the  superstitions 
of  the  red  man,  therefore  he  would  die  with  the  grim  indif- 
ference befitting  the  descendant  of  a  great  warrior.  He 
would  be  worthy  of  his  illustrious  kinsman,  Apushama- 
tahah. 

Some  of  the  Indians  rebelled  against  the  loss  of  a  tribes- 
man whose  help  the  Nation  needed,  but  when  they  voiced 
their  feelings  Hattakowa  bade  them  to  believe  that  through 
his  death  good  might  come  to  the  Chickasaws. 

At  last  he  was  free  to  descend  the  hill  from  the  capitol  to 
the  street  where,  in  a  covered  carriage,  waited  his  mother. 
Mrs.  Dixon  pressed  her  thin  lips  against  her  son's  cheek, 
and,  in  silence,  sat  beside  him  many  minutes  after  he  had 
taken  the  lines  from  her  hands.  Marchand  and  a  coloured 
servant  followed  them  on  horseback  as  they  drove  into  the 
gate  leading  toward  the  ranch. 

"  It  seems  as  if  years  had  passed  since  last  we  went  this 
way  together,"  said  Mrs.  Dixon,  after  they  had  reached  a 
bridge  crossing  Pennington  Creek.  She  turned  to  her  son 
with  the  intense  look  of  maternal  solicitude,  which  mingled 
with  the  natural  animal  instinct  of  motherhood  the  tender- 
ness of  a  woman  of  intelligence.  Her  face  had  a  withered 


290  THE    MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

look,  and  her  dark  eyes  burned  in  sockets  deepened  by  sleep- 
less nights  and  racking  anxieties. 

"  I  have  made  you  suffer  terribly,  mother,"  answered 
Hattakowa.  "  That  is  my  only  regret,  but  I  know  you 
understand." 

"  Yes,  I  understand,"  said  Mrs.  Dixon,  with  a  sigh,  and, 
as  if  that  understanding  reminded  her  of  Pakali,  she  drew 
from  a  little  handbag  a  letter  which  she  gave  to  her  son. 

"  Pakali  sent  this  to  you."  She  spoke  quietly,  but  her 
thin  lips  tightened  and  she  sat  upright  with  folded  hands 
lest  she  should  see  the  joy  in  Hattakowa's  face. 

"  You  and  Pakali  must  be  nearer  than  ever  before 
when "  Hattakowa  hesitated — "  I  am  not  here." 

Mrs.  Dixon,  with  a  convulsive  motion,  loosened  the  bon- 
net strings  which  seemed  to  choke  her.  '*  Your  life  seems 
wasted.  You  will  lose  it  before  you  have  what  belongs  to 
you,"  she  cried,  in  a  voice  which  carried  a  heart-broken 
protest  against  his  destiny. 

"  I  have  been  trying  to  understand  myself,"  answered 
Hattakowa.  "  I  have  come  to  realise  that  my  spirit  is  a 
strange  survival  from  the  past,  or,  rather,  I  might  say  that 
I  came  into  the  world  several  generations  too  late.  If  I 
could  live  many  years  I  should  still  be  out  of  place.  I  could 
not  conform  to  existing  conditions  without  constant  inef- 
fectual resistance  which  would  always  prevent  me  from 
knowing  anything  like  peace.  Mine  is  an  insurgent  spirit 
that  must  meet  defeat." 

"  How  shall  I  be  able  to  bear  your  going!  "  Mrs. 
Dixon  grasped  Hattakowa's  wrist,  as  if  she  would  hold  him 
forever.  "  I  am  trying  to  be  brave,  but  it  seems  as  if  I 
could  not  endure  what  is  before  me."  Her  dark  skin  took 
on  a  leaden  hue,  and  her  thin  face  was  stamped  with  the 
terror  of  the  thought  that  constantly  haunted  her — the 
thought  of  her  son's  death. 

"  I  shall  try  to  make  it  as  easy  for  you  as  possible,"  Hatta- 


RESPITE  291 

kowa  said,  with  tenderness  in  his  voice.  "  If  I  can  cause 
my  death  to  be  of  some  benefit  to  my  people,  you  can 
bear  it." 

They  drove  on,  and  Hattakowa  spoke  no  more  of  him- 
self, but  instead  he  rejoiced  over  the  beauty  of  the  purple 
hills,  the  sweep  of  the  rolling  prairies,  and  the  quiet  of  the 
autumn  day. 

"  It  is  good  to  be  free,"  he  said,  when  they  were  near  the 
large  rambling  house  which  had  long  been  his  home. 
"  Mother,  perhaps  this  sense  of  liberty  is  but  a  hint  of  the 
freedom  I  shall  feel  when  the  spirit  goes  from  my  body. 
From  this  day  on  you  and  I  will  give  no  vain  regret  to  what 
must  be." 

Hattakowa  did  not  enter  the  ranch  house  until  he  had 
gone  away  by  himself  into  the  little  wood  beyond  a  wide 
stretch  of  pasture  land.  Here,  where  he  was  alone  once 
more  with  nature,  he  read  Pakali's  letter.  The  words, 
penned  with  an  unsteady  hand,  told  him  that  she  who  un- 
wittingly had  brought  him  to  the  threshold  of  death,  desired 
to  see  him  at  Moma  Binna.  A  postscript  from  Miko  assured 
The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun  that  the  Little  Chieftain 
loved  him. 

For  a  week  Hattakowa  remained  on  the  ranch,  where  he 
had  many  business  affairs  to  put  in  order.  He  found  that 
Marchand  had  proved  an  agent  worthy  of  his  trust,  and  the 
young  Kentuckian  was  a  valuable  aid  in  attending  to  details 
which  Hattakowa  disliked.  The  two  men  became  friends 
in  the  best  way,  for  each  recognised  and  respected  distinctive 
individual  traits  in  the  other,  yet  the  red  man  and  the  white 
man  represented  types  so  widely  at  variance  that  it  was  not 
easy  to  understand  upon  what  common  ground  they  met. 

Until  he  had  been  confined  in  the  Ardmore  prison  Hatta- 
kowa had  never  analysed  his  emotions;  he  had  merely  recog- 
nised them.  The  loss  of  his  Star  Woman  had  been  his  one 
great  sorrow;  he  had  rebelled  against  it,  and  the  years  had 


292  THE    MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

failed  to  bring  him  resignation.  Now  that  he  was  forced  tc 
look  upon  life  as  a  traveller  beholds  for  the  last  time  a 
panorama  of  plain  and  valley  and  mesa  before  he  passes  over 
the  mountain  range,  Hattakowa  discovered  that  the  white 
man's  philosophy  was  a  help  to  him.  He  and  Marchand 
worked  together  all  day,  and  at  night  they  talked  many 
hours  after  Mrs.  Dixon  had  gone  to  bed.  In  these  days 
Hattakowa  grudged  every  moment  spent  in  sleep. 

Long  after  midnight  he  walked  far  afield  over  the  prairies 
or  wandered  through  the  wide  strips  of  timber  land,  made 
desolate  by  the  cold  of  late  autumn.  It  was  in  these  periods 
of  solitude  that  Hattakowa  strove  for  a  triumphant  spirit  of 
renunciation.  Without  regret  he  could  put  off  the  spirit's 
garment  of  flesh.  After  he  was  dead  he  might  still  be  near 
to  his  Star  Woman,  through  all  the  years  that  she  remained 
on  earth,  but  if  there  came  a  time  when  she  should  belong 
to  another  man,  would  not  he  be  a  tormented  wanderer 
traversing  the  vast  moonlit  plains  in  which  the  Indian  dwells 
through  what  the  white  man  calls  eternity?  Hattakowa 
liked  to  retain  his  faith  in  the  old  Chickasaw  tradition  that 
after  death  the  spirit  might  linger  near  to  the  earthly  pre- 
cincts wherein  those  whom  it  had  loved  still  tarried  until  it 
was  content  to  cross  the  earth's  great  chasm  beyond  which 
lay  the  land  of  the  blessed. 

From  the  first  day  in  which  he  had  contemplated  the 
payment  of  his  life  as  a  penalty  for  blood  vengeance,  Hatta- 
kowa had  been  possessed  with  a  longing  to  perform  some 
act  which  would  prove  his  devotion  to  the  Chickasaw  Nation. 
In  the  period  of  his  incarceration  land  frauds  had  multiplied, 
and  the  Government  at  Washington  appeared  ignorant  of 
conditions  in  the  Territory.  Why  should  not  he  carry  the 
truth  to  the  President  of  the  United  States?  While  he  was 
in  prison  this  question  had  presented  itself  again  and  again 
as  if  to  mock  his  helplessness.  Now  he  was  free.  He 
would  have  three  weeks  of  liberty,  ample  time  in  which  to 


RESPITE  293 

make  a  journey  to  Washington.  Carefully  he  thought  out 
every  detail  that  might  contribute  to  the  success  of  his  mis- 
sion. He  still  had  the  copy  of  the  syndicate's  papers,  which 
the  cyclone  had  been  the  means  of  putting  into  his  posses- 
sion, and  from  Sands  and  Beaumont  he  could  obtain  data 
concerning  illegal  enrollments,  bribery  in  obtaining  mineral 
leases,  waste  of  the  public  school  funds,  and  general  rascality 
in  the  conduct  of  tribal  business.  Through  all  the  dishonesty 
and  injustice  he  could  trace  the  influence  of  men  who  prosti- 
tuted their  political  power  and  betrayed  the  confidence  of 
the  United  States  Government.  If  he  could  gain  the  ear 
of  the  President  he  would  plead  the  cause  of  his  people  so 
that  their  cry  for  justice  would  be  heeded. 

With  feverish  haste  he  transacted  all  his  personal  business. 
Judge  Maury  was  summoned  to  the  ranch  for  the  purpose  of 
giving  advice. 

"  Before  I  agree  to  any  scheme  for  the  benefit  of  the 
whole  Chickasaw  Nation,  I  want  to  speak  of  the  welfare  of 
one  Indian."  The  Judge  unbuttoned  his  shiny  broadcloth 
frock  coat  as  if  to  give  himself  more  breathing  space.  "  Jo- 
seph Dixon,  you  must  not  sacrifice  your  life  because  of  a  mad 
idea  that  you  are  protecting  your  kinswoman  from  notoriety. 
It  is  not  too  late  for  something  to  be  done." 

Rising  from  his  chair  Hattakowa  proudly  faced  the  old 
lawyer : 

"  I  have  chosen  to  die  as  a  man  should  die,"  he  answered. 
''  The  Chickasaw  Nation  has  pledged  itself  to  inflict  upon 
me  the  death  penalty.  Would  you  have  me  discredit  my 
people?  Would  you  have  the  Indian  become  as  indifferent 
to  the  meaning  of  a  pledge  as  his  white  brother?  I  com- 
mand you  now,  as  you  value  my  honour,  not  to  dare  by  any 
legal  subterfuge  to  attempt  what  you  would  call  my 
'  rescue  '  from  death.  If  I  could  have  life  for  the  asking, 
I  should  not  want  it." 

"  You  have  everything  that  should  make  a  man  happy," 


294  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

said  the  Judge.  "  I  cannot  understand  why  you  have  never 
seemed  contented." 

Hattakowa,  glancing  past  the  Judge,  beheld  on  Mar- 
chand's  face  a  look  of  such  comprehension  that  beneath  his 
dark  skin  the  blood  surged  to  his  face. 

"  One  man  can  see  but  a  short  distance  into  the  life  of 
another,"  he  remarked,  as  he  turned  away  with  the  pretence 
that  something  on  his  desk  attracted  his  attention. 

"  Are  you  ready  to  help  me  make  my  will  now  ?  "  he  asked, 
as  he  arranged  a  mass  of  papers,  and  Marchand,  opening  the 
French  window,  went  out  of  doors. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII 

THE    HOUR   OF    CLEAR   VISION 

MOONLIGHT  turned  the  autumn  world  into  a  place  of  vague 
beauty.  Tishomingo  lay  in  the  quiet  of  early  night.  Its 
houses  cast  queer  shadows  upon  the  streets,  white  and  waver- 
ing, as  they  stretched  from  hill  to  hill.  In  the  distance  the 
mountains  were  sharply  outlined  against  the  silver  sky,  in 
which  the  stars  were  dimmed  by  the  brightness  of  the  moon. 
As  Pakali  walked  upon  the  ledge  overlooking  the  town,  she 
felt  as  if  the  glory  of  sky  and  earth  made  the  black  despair 
of  the  human  heart  more  terrible. 

Moma  Binna,  spread  out  upon  the  little  plateau,  appeared 
as  if  it  were  the  abode  of  peace  and  happiness.  From  the 
great  stone  chimney  of  the  living  room  curled  a  little  thread 
of  smoke,  for  the  night  was  chilly,  and  Beaumont  craved  the 
warmth  of  an  open  fire.  The  vines  over  the  porch  were 
bare,  their  tendrils  forming  a  delicate  network  through 
which  the  moonlight  fell  upon  the  floor  of  the  veranda.  The 
house  was  in  darkness,  since  Beaumont,  gazing  at  the  burn- 
ing logs,  was  occupied  with  sad  thoughts,  and  had  no  need 
of  candle  or  lamp.  In  the  servants'  quarter?  some  of  the 
negroes  were  singing,  their  rich,  deep  voices  blending  in  a 
minor  melody. 

Back  and  forth,  up  and  down  the  garden  path  Pakali 
paced,  waiting  for  Hattakowa  and  Miko  to  return  from  a 
long  day's  hunting  trip.  Hattakowa  had  come  to  Moma 
Binna  in  the  morning,  but  he  had  purposely  avoided  seeing 
Pakali,  for  whom  he  left  the  message  that  he  desired  to 
pass  an  hour  with  her  in  the  evening.  Unless  some  unex- 
pected measure  of  mercy  interfered,  it  would  be  the  last  time 
that  Hattakowa  climbed  the  hill  to  Moma  Binna. 

295 


296  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

Pakali  had  put  on  a  white  wool  dress,  and  about  her 
shoulders  she  wore  a  crimson  scarf,  that  her  kinsman  had 
given  her  when  she  was  a  school  girl.  It  was  not  coquetry 
which  caused  her  to  attire  herself  so  that  in  appearance  she 
would  be  as  far  as  possible  the  Pakali  of  the  old  days;  a 
sense  of  delicacy  forced  her  to  avoid  all  that  might  remind 
Hattakowa  of  her  tragic  widowhood.  She  had  never 
changed  her  coiffure,  and  to-night  the  "  tucking  comb  " 
caught  the  heavy  braids  at  the  back  of  her  head. 

The  glare  of  day  showed  lines  in  Pakali's  face,  but  now, 
in  the  moonlight,  the  woman  who  stepped  forward  to  greet 
Hattakowa,  as  slowly  he  came  up  the  road,  with  Miko  far 
ahead  of  him,  was  so  much  like  the  girl  from  whom  the 
Indian  had  claimed  the  first  kiss,  that  the  strong  man  stood 
speechless  before  his  Star  Woman.  The  Indian's  hunting 
costume,  with  long  leggings  and  loose  flannel  shirt,  made 
him  a  picturesque  figure,  since  it  brought  out  his  sturdy 
strength  of  limb  and  his  splendid  breadth  of  shoulder. 

"  We  have  had  the  happiest  day,  mother,"  shouted  Miko. 
"  We  have  brought  home  enough  game  to  keep  the 
Blikens  family  for  a  week,  and  see!  I  am  all  safe,  for  my 
gun  did  not  go  off  at  the  wrong  time,  and  we  did  not  have 
a  single  mishap." 

Pakali  forced  herself  to  smile  upon  Miko. 

"  The  Man  Looking  for  the  Sun  talked  much  to  me 
when  we  were  in  the  woods,"  said  Miko,  putting  his  gun 
against  a  tree,  and  then  reaching  up  to  kiss  his  mother. 
"  The  Little  Chieftain  has  promised  The  Man  Looking  for 
the  Sun  that  he  will  care  for  Pakali,  The  Flower,  and  com- 
fort her  and  protect  her  for  the  sake  of  one  who  could  not 
stay  on  earth  to  watch  over  her.  Of  course  The  Man  Look- 
ing for  the  Sun  knew  I  would  be  good  to  my  mother,  but 
he  has  told  me  why  I  must  be  more  tender  and  more  loving 
than  any  other  boy  in  the  Chickasaw  Nation." 

Pakali  held  Miko  in  a  close  embrace. 


THE    HOUR   OF   CLEAR   VISION         297 

"Why  do  you  tremble  so?"  Miko  asked,  when  he  saw 
that  with  shut  lips  and  half-closed  eyes  his  mother  heard 
his  words. 

"  Let  me  tell  your  mother  what  I  said,  Little  Chieftain," 
suggested  Hattakowa.  "  While  you  go  in  to  see  your 
grandfather  I  will  stay  here  with  her." 

Miko  left  Hattakowa  and  Pakali  there  together. 

"  This  hour  with  you  is  a  gift  I  have  coveted  from  fate." 
Hattakowa  spoke  quietly,  as  if  he  strove  to  make  her  under- 
stand that  his  nearness  to  death  troubled  him  little.  He 
cast  aside  the  broad  felt  hat  which  he  had  worn,  and,  throw- 
ing upon  the  ground  his  gun  and  game  bag,  he  stepped  for- 
ward as  if  he  would  have  touched  her.  Then,  remember- 
ing that  blood  of  her  husband  was  upon  his  hand,  he  drew 
back. 

"  When  you  were  in  prison  I  wanted  to  visit  you,"  con- 
fessed Pakali. 

"  It  was  enough  to  know,  Pakali,  that  you  tried  to  under- 
stand my  action." 

Pakali  shrank  away  from  him,  as  he  spoke  of  what  he 
had  done. 

"  Oh,  if  you  knew  how  I  have  suffered,  because  I  am 
responsible  for  all  this  trouble!  "  she  exclaimed,  putting  her 
hands  upon  her  breast.  "  Oh,  I  have  thought  and  thought, 
in  order  that  I  might  find  some  way  by  which  I  could  bear 
my  part  of  the  punishment  for  all  that  has  come  to  our 
family  since  I  gave  my  love  to  the  white  man,  yet  I  am  help- 
less, helpless!  " 

"  You  must  not  feel  as  you  do."  Hattakowa  went  nearer 
to  his  Aiahnichih-Choyoh. 

When  they  were  children  he  had  often  comforted  Pakali, 
and  now,  forgetting  that  he  meant  not  to  touch  her,  he 
tenderly  put  his  arm  around  her  and  led  her  toward  the 
house.  She  felt  his  strength,  and  quickly  gained  command 
of  herself.  Looking  up  into  his  face,  she  saw  for  the  first 


298  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

time  the  scar  upon  his  forehead.  Instantly  Hattakowa,  re- 
membering, drew  away  from  her. 

"  For  the  moment  I  forgot  all  else  except  that  you  needed 
my  sympathy,"  he  said.  "  I  have  made  myself  unfit  to 
touch  you." 

"  No,  no,  do  not  say  that,"  Pakali  protested.  "  I  know 
how  you  received  the  wound,  and,  even  if  that  mark  were 
not  significant,  did  not  our  old  Indian  law  declare  that  when 
a  man  pledged  himself  to  give  a  life  for  a  life  it  was  as  if 
the  deed  for  which  he  promised  to  suffer  was  forever  blotted 
out?  And  was  not  such  a  man  received  among  his  people 
as  one  more  honoured  than  all  who  had  no  chance  to  prove 
their  courage?  I  have  thought  much  of  this,  and  when  you 
came  to  me  I  hoped  you  would  ignore  all  else  except  the  one 
fact  that  you  are  going  away  on  a  long  journey." 

"  Pakali,  could  not  we  pretend  for  a  little  while  that  you 
and  I  are  here  to  talk  as  we  talked  long  ago,  just  before  we 
were  sent  away  to  college?  "  Hattakowa  drew  a  chair  for 
Pakali  out  into  the  space  beyond  the  shadow  of  the  vines, 
and  wrapped  about  her  a  shawl  which  he  found  upon  a 
bench.  Then,  sitting  at  her  feet,  upon  the  top  step,  he 
waited  for  her  to  speak. 

"  My  father  has  told  me  of  your  mission  to  Washington," 
she  said,  presently.  "  I  am  sure  no  one  could  plead  for  the 
Nation  with  more  eloquence  than  you  can  command.  If 
you  go  away  from  us  knowing  that,  through  your  interces- 
sion, our  people's  wrongs  will  be  diminished,  you  will  be 
sure  your  life  has  not  been  wasted." 

"  This  hour  will  make  the  going  away  easier."  Hatta- 
kowa gazed  at  Pakali  as  if  he  would  impress  her  image  upon 
his  memory  so  distinctly  that  he  would  carry  it  through 
eternity. 

"  There  is  so  much  to  tell  you,  Pakali,  that  if  we  talked 
here  until  sunrise  I  should  not  be  able  to  say  half  that  is  in 
my  heart."  Hattakowa  spoke  in  low  tones,  that  recalled 


THE   HOUR   OF   CLEAR   VISION         299 

the  beginning  of  many  a  boyhood  confession.  "  Although  I 
may  not  share  with  you  the  thoughts  which  have  come  to 
me  since  I  have  had  death  for  a  near  neighbour,  I  know  that 
gradually  they  will  reach  you  as  if,  from  across  the  great 
(fhasm,  I  sent  them  back  to  earth.  You  and  I,  who  belong 
to  a  vanishing  race,  have  sorrow  as  our  heritage,  and  we 
must  view  our  lives  in  their  relation  to  the  future.  We 
must  see  ourselves  as  overwhelmed  by  the  great  forces  of 
progress;  we  must  become  as  the  pebble  lost  in  the  river  as 
long  as  water  runs,  and  as  dust  in  the  prairie  as  long  as 
grass  grows;  but  dust  and  pebble  may  serve  some  high 
purpose.  I  have  been  only  half  fatalist  or  I  would  not 
have  rebelled  against  destiny.  Through  my  mistakes  I 
would  have  you  strengthened  in  your  belief  that  the  Indian 
can  do  nothing  but  conform  to  new  conditions.  Teaching 
and  preaching,  you  have  already  helped  the  children  of  the 
Chickasaws.  Show  them  how  they  may  choose  the  best  of 
the  white  man's  ways;  how  they  may  acquire  true  wisdom 
from  his  vast  fund  of  knowledge.  Death,  waiting  at  my 
elbow  for  many  a  week,  has  taught  me  my  lesson.  I  want 
it  to  serve  all  the  Five  Nations  who  are  soon  to  be  recognised 
as  American  citizens." 

"  I  shall  train  Miko  to  devote  whatever  talents  have 
been  given  him  to  the  service  of  the  Indian  race,"  Pakali 
promised. 

"  And  you  will  look  upon  my  death  without  any  feeling 
of  dread?  Promise  me  that  you  will  try  to  think  of  it  as  the 
cutting  down  of  a  pine  tree  in  the  forest.  I  have  often  won- 
dered why  those  who  embrace  the  Christian  religion  do  not 
rejoice  when  the  soul  is  set  free.  Cannot  you  go  back  to 
your  Indian  belief  enough  to  feel  that  death  is  a  prize  and 
not  a  penalty?  " 

"  I  have  a  woman's  heart,"  faltered  Pakali. 

"  But  it  is  the  heart  of  a  Chickasaw  woman,  therefore  you 
will  meet  me  at  the  sunset  hour  when  all  my  people  shall 


300  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

have  gathered  to  say  good-bye  to  me.  I  am  so  selfish  that  I 
would  behold  your  face  on  that  last  day." 

Nervously  she  clasped  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and  whis- 
pered : 

"  I  am  afraid — I  am  afraid  that  I  cannot  bear  it." 

"  You  will  be  stronger  when  the  time  comes.  It  is  a  hard 
ordeal  I  would  have  you  endure,  but  somehow  I  believe  the 
power  of  this  great  love  I  have  for  you  will  sustain  you  so 
that  you  can  let  me  look  upon  your  face  when  the  last  hour 
of  my  life  has  come." 

But  while  Pakali  cowered  before  the  image  of  death, 
vainly  seeking  to  give  the  promise  Hattakowa  asked  of  her, 
Beaumont,  leaning  upon  his  cane,  was  slowly  walking  upon 
the  side  veranda.  Reaching  the  corner,  he  saw  Hattakowa 
and  Pakali. 

"  I  have  been  waiting  for  you  to  come  in  and  see  me," 
he  said,  addressing  Hattakowa,  in  a  half  reproachful  tone. 
"  There  are  many  matters  to  be  discussed." 

Hattakowa  went  with  Beaumont  to  the  living  room  fire- 
side. Left  alone,  Pakali  shivered  in  the  moonlight.  She 
had  asked  how  she  might  help  to  bear  the  punishment  Hatta- 
kowa would  suffer,  and  now  he  had  shown  her  the  way. 
She  tried  to  summon  what  fortitude  she  had  at  her  com- 
mand, but  this  supreme  test  of  her  endurance  appeared  too 
terrible  to  be  borne.  She  went  down  into  the  garden,  and, 
looking  up  at  the  sky,  tried  to  pray,  but  she  found  herself 
too  weak  even  to  desire  the  strength  that  she  would  need 
if  she  should  go  to  the  place  of  death.  She  paced  the  ledge 
through  a  long  half  hour,  and  then  Hattakowa  came  from 
the  house. 

"  It  is  farewell  now,"  he  said,  softly.  "  Farewell,  my  Star 
Woman." 

She  put  out  both  her  hands,  and  they  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes. 

In  his  heart  rose  the  tides  of  feeling.     They  swept  over 


THE    HOUR   OF   CLEAR   VISION         301 

i 

him  until  his  spirit  was  submerged.  For  a  moment  all 
that  was  human  in  him  craved  her.  He  would  have  held 
her  to  his  breast,  telling  her  the  hundred  thoughts  that  the 
surge  of  his  heart  cast  upon  his  brain.  Life  had  long  meant 
to  him  only  Pakali,  and  now,  when  he  was  taking  leave  of 
her,  he  was  suffering  the  one  death  agony.  The  sunset  hour 
of  the  November  day  which  was  coming  could  bring  him 
little  pain  after  he  had  given  up  the  woman  he  loved.  With 
steady  gaze  he  looked  into  her  eyes,  commanding  her  spirit 
to  meet  his,  and  for  a  moment  Pakali  had  the  revelation  of 
a  strong  man's  love — the  great  love  that  survives  years  of 
change,  holding  life  as  merely  an  opportunity  for  its  ex- 
pression. Her  pulses  quickened.  The  moonlit  world  took 
on  a  strange  glory.  If,  long  ago,  she  could  have  under- 
stood, if  she  could  have  but  knowrn  that  education,  travel, 
and  all  the  civilised  arts  of  men  are  as  nothing  when  weighed 
against  the  great  primal  impulse ;  if  she  could  have  but  known 
the  thing  that  the  white  man  calls  progress  cannot  change 
the  heart's  desire  for  the  encompassing,  all-sufficient  love — 
she  and  Hattakowa  might  have  been  delivered  from  tragedy ; 
they  might  have  known  happiness! 

They  held  each  other's  hands  while  a  fragment  of  time 
was  added  to  their  lives,  but  in  those  moments  the  trivial 
things  of  the  world  fell  away  from  them.  Together  they 
beheld  the  vision  which  unveiled  the  mysteries  of  existence 
and  taught  them  the  meanings  of  sorrow,  the  causes  of 
suffering.  While  they  looked  thus  at  each  other  the  flood 
tide  from  Hattakowa's  heart  receded  and  with  its  ebb  came 
an  enduring  calm. 

"  My  Indian  faith  denies  me  the  comfort  of  your  belief  in 
a  Heaven  where  those  who  love  shall  meet  again,"  he 
said,  solemnly,  "  but  somewhere  my  spirit  will  wait  for 
yours." 

He  put  both  her  hands  upon  his  breast,  and  held  them 
there,  as  if  thus  he  would  give  courage  to  his  heart,  which 


302  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

failed  him  when  he  would  have  turned  to  go  away  from 
her. 

For  another  moment  they  stood  there,  and  then  Hatta- 
kowa  went  away,  walking  as  a  soldier  marches  to  victory. 
At  the  ledge  he  stopped  to  wave  his  hand  to  Pakali  in  the 
old  gesture  with  which,  ever  since  he  was  a  boy,  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  go  away  from  Moma  Binna. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 
WAITING 

WHEN  it  was  known  that  Hattakowa,  accompanied  by  his 
mother,  had  taken  a  journey,  ostensibly  to  Washington, 
many  of  the  newcomers  to  the  Territory  declared  that  the 
Indian  had  fled  from  what  they  called  justice.  Billy  Brown, 
who  first  heard  the  news  from  Jim  Dalton,  flew  into  a 
violent  rage  at  what  he  declared  was  the  "  laxity  "  of  a 
government  which  would  entrust  a  man  under  sentence  of 
death  to  a  lot  of  irresponsible  Indians.  Billy  Brown's  anger 
was  not  altogether  impersonal,  for  he  immediately  asked  the 
question : 

"  If  Joseph  Dixon  went  to  Washington,  what  was  his 
errand?" 

"  Some  say  he  went  to  complain  to  the  President  about 
our  syndicates  and  our  schemes  for  the  obstruction  of  State- 
hood," explained  Dalton. 

"  It's  more  likely  he's  gone  to  plead  for  his  own  life," 
commented  the  banker,  but  he  did  not  mean  what  he  said. 
He  had  gained  too  much  knowledge  of  the  Indian  character 
to  imagine  that  Hattakowa  would  ask  for  mercy.  ' 

Judge  Maury  was  in  a  state  bordering  on  nervous  prostra- 
tion, inasmuch  as  he  had  exhausted  every  effort  that  might 
persuade  Hattakowa  to  invoke  Federal  clemency.  Although 
Hattakowa  had  forbidden  him  to  make  any  move  that  would 
call  attention  to  the  case,  he  had  obtained  General  Chillings- 
worth's  assistance  in  again  presenting  it  to  the  Department  of 
the  Interior.  While  Hattakowa  and  his  mother  journeyed 
eastward,  the  Judge  impatiently  watched  the  mails.  In 
those  days  he  partook  of  copious  draughts  of  whisky,  im- 
ported by  a  client  who  dealt  in  drygoods,  and  frequently 


304  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

brought  In  cases  marked  "  hoisery  "  which  contained  liquors 
of  popular  brands.  The  Judge  passed  much  time  pacing  the 
worn  oilcloth  of  his  office  floor,  and  thinking  of  Hattakowa's 
death  sentence.  Judge  Maury  had  taken  many  bracing 
drinks  one  day  when  Henry  Sands  climbed  the  steps  leading 
to  the  shabby  office.  Sands  looked  tired  and  worried. 
Hattakowa  was  almost  as  dear  to  him  as  one  of  his  own 
sons,  and  now  he  found  his  Indian  stoicism  deserting  him 
when  he  contemplated  the  fate  of  the  Chickasaw,  whom  he 
considered  best  fitted  to  succeed  Beaumont  as  an  unofficial 
guardian  of  the  Nation. 

"  Have  some  firewater,"  suggested  the  Judge,  with  an 
assumption  of  the  jaunty  manner  that  had  once  been  one 
of  his  distinguishing  characteristics. 

Sands  shook  his  large  head. 

"  Unless  I  took  enough  to  make  me  forget  everything,  it 
would  not  be  worth  while  to  taste  the  white  man's  liquor," 
he  averred. 

"  I've  been  wondering  whether  Hattakowa's  mission  to 
Washington  can  possibly  bring  any  good  to  the  Five  Na- 
tions," Sands  said,  when  he  had  seated  himself  in  one  of  the 
broken-springed  chairs. 

"  I  believe  it  will,  I  believe  it  will."  The  Judge  had 
taken  enough  whisky  to  brighten  his  view  of  any  subject. 

"  Even  if  he  obtains  a  hearing  I  fear  he  has  so  much  to 
say  that  the  President  will  be  tired  listening  to  him  long 
before  he  has  mentioned  half  our  wrongs,"  remarked  Sands. 

"  Don't  worry  about  that,  don't  worry  about  that."  The 
Judge  stopped  pacing  the  floor,  and,  putting  his  thumbs  into 
the  armholes  of  his  waistcoat,  stood  prepared  to  give  encour- 
agement to  his  old  friend.  "  I  have  never  known  a  more 
eloquent  man  than  young  Dixon.  He  will  compel  atten- 
tion. I  have  hoped  that  he  will  be  recognised  as  the  Indian 
who  is  under  death  sentence,  but  I  know  he  will  conceal 
that  fact  lest  it  be  supposed  that  he  bids  for  sympathy." 


WAITING  305 

"  He  appears  desirous  of  dying,"  remarked  Sands.  "  The 
last  thing  before  he  left  Tishomingo  he  insisted  upon  en- 
trusting all  the  details  of  certain  matters  connected  with  the 
execution  to  me."  The  Indian  wiped  the  cold  sweat  from 
his  forehead.  "  He  wanted  me  to  use  my  influence  with 
the  Chickasaw  officials  in  such  a  way  that  the  old  tribal 
ceremony  of  inflicting  the  death  penalty  will  be  followed  as 
closely  as  possible." 

The  Judge  poured  some  whisky  into  a  glass  and  offered 
it  to  Sands,  who  declined  to  taste  the  liquor.  The  Judge 
swallowed  it  at  one  gulp. 

The  short  November  days  hastened  by.  In  Tishomingo 
business  activity  was  increased  by  the  coming  of  many  new 
residents  who  waited  impatiently  for  opportunities  to  pro- 
cure land  from  the  Indians.  The  cry  for  Statehood  was 
taken  up  by  the  white  men  who  were  eager  for  the  final 
settlement  of  Indian  affairs.  In  all  parts  of  the  Territory 
broken-down  politicians  and  friends  of  politicians  from 
various  centres  of  America's  boasted  civilisation  were  be- 
ginning to  cherish  congressional  ambitions. 

A  new  Governor,  who  was  said  to  be  allied  with  the 
white  politicians,  had  been  elected.  Sands  had  declared  that 
this  man,  who  was  to  have  the  honour  of  being  one  of  the 
last  of  the  Chickasaw  chieftains,  belonged  to  the  party  of 
"  addition,  division,  and  silence."  During  the  campaign, 
which  took  place  in  August,  Sands  had  rallied  about  him  the 
Non-Progressive  faction  of  the  Chickasaws,  but,  without 
the  aid  of  Beaumont,  who  was  disabled  by  the  tragedy  which 
touched  his  family,  comparatively  little  had  been  accom- 
plished. The  younger  Chickasaws  espoused  the  cause  of 
the  party  which  promised  to  hasten  the  full  American  citizen- 
ship that  would  carry  with  it  recognition  of  equality  with 
the  white  man. 

Now  Hattakowa's  tragic  position  suddenly  united  all  fac- 


306  THE    MAN    OF   YESTERDAY 

tions  among  the  Chickasaws.  The  whole  Nation  discovered 
that  the  descendant  of  Apushamatahah  had  never  done  ill  to 
any  man;  it  was  remembered  how  lavishly  he  had  spent  his 
money  for  whatever  enterprise  promised  help  for  his  people. 
Many  who  had  besieged  the  capitol  on  the  night  when  Hatta- 
kowa  and  his  friends  were  entrenched  within  it,  declared  that 
much  fraud  might  have  been  prevented  if  he  had  been  per- 
mitted to  hold  the  office  of  Governor.  Doubts  concerning 
the  probability  of  the  voluntary  return  of  an  Indian  sen- 
tenced to  death,  when  expressed  by  the  white  men  in  the 
Territory,  appealed  to  the  tribal  spirit  and  were  resented  by 
all  who  belonged  to  the  Nation.  Although  the  Mattisons 
and  their  supporters  had  espoused  the  principles  cunningly 
formulated  by  the  political  scapegraces  who  claimed  to  enjoy 
the  confidence  of  the  Federal  Government,  their  Indian  blood 
asserted  itself  when  the  honour  of  the  whole  Nation  was  at 
stake.  Hattakowa's  death  would  show  the  white  man  how 
the  red  man  could  keep  a  pledge.  Never  in  the  history  of 
the  Chickasaws  had  it  been  necessary  to  imprison  a  man  who 
was  to  be  executed.  It  was  enough  for  a  Chickasaw  to  give 
his  word  that  he  would  be  present  on  the  day  and  hour  sig- 
nified by  the  agents  of  the  law. 

Pakali  counted  the  days  as  a  miser  who  beholds  his  precious 
hoard  disappear,  piece  by  piece.  In  the  nights  she  strove  to 
make  close  acquaintance  with  the  elusive  idea  of  death,  but 
when  she  would  have  faced  the  dread  presence  it  was  far 
away  from  her — it  was  following  Hattakowa.  She  tried 
to  comprehend  how  it  would  be  when  she  wras  called  to 
put  away  life,  but  the  blood  beat  in  her  head  and  she 
could  not  think.  She  saw  Hattakowa's  face  in  the  dark- 
ness, and  again  and  again  she  felt  the  consoling  in- 
fluence of  his  strength.  At  first  in  paroxysms  of  grief 
she  cried  out  that  she  could  not  have  conditions  as 
they  were.  She  prayed  that  in  some  way  the  cup  of  bitter- 
ness might  be  taken  from  her  lips.  Her  wish  now  and  then 


WAITING  307 

beguiled  her  into  the  belief  that  Hattakowa  could  not  be  per- 
mitted to  die;  that,  at  the  last,  some  power  would  interfere. 
At  first  when  she  besought  Heaven  to  spare  the  life  of  her 
kinsman,  to  make  less  the  burden  of  all  her  responsibility 
for  his  terrible  deed  and  its  apportioned  punishment,  she 
found  but  scant  solace  in  seeking  Divine  help.  Gradually, 
as  she  recalled,  word  by  word,  all  that  Hattakowa  had  said 
to  her,  she  partook  of  his  fortitude;  she  absorbed  something 
of  his  upreaching  spirit.  Like  him,  she  groped  toward  the 
light,  then,  after  the  precious  store  of  days  was  greatly  di- 
minished, she  learned  to  pray  for  the  submission  that  had 
in  it  an  abiding  courage.  She  asked  for  a  larger  faith;  she 
pleaded  that  the  right  knowledge  might  be  given  her.  It  was 
after  she  had  gone  into  the  brown  woods  in  the  second  week 
of  Hattakowa's  absence  that  she  returned  to  Moma  Binna 
there  to  search  the  pages  of  the  Little  Mother's  Bible  which 
still  remained  in  its  old  place  on  a  small  table  in  the  living 
room.  Until  late  into  the  night  she  read  of  the  half  barbaric 
peoples  whose  lives  were  chronicled  in  the  Old  Testament. 
Long  ago  the  Lord  had  been  merciful ;  he  had  provided  cities 
of  refuge  for  the  slayers  of  their  fellow  men.  The  pages 
of  Holy  Writ  bore  the  records  of  many  lives  in  which  blood 
vengeance  had  been  exacted. 

When  it  was  too  dark  to  see  the  words,  Pakali  bowed 
her  head  upon  the  Book  of  Books. 


CHAPTER    XL 

SUNSET 

IN  the  late  autumn  came  a  day  that  gathered  to  itself  the 
splendour  of  an  earlier  season.  Summer  lingers  long  in  the 
Territory,  and  now,  although  the  winter  was  near,  golden 
rod  still  bloomed  along  the  road,  the  yellow  of  the  late  flower 
blurred  by  the  feathery  veil  of  tall  grasses.  In  neglected 
cotton  fields  here  and  there  bursting  bolls  shed  their  snowy 
store  upon  the  dry  earth.  On  the  trees  curling  leaves  clung 
to  branches  outlined  against  the  exquisite  blue  of  a  cloudless 
sky.  Gentle  winds,  sweeping  up  from  the  Gulf  of  Mexico, 
bore  the  faint  incense  of  the  dried  foliage  that  lay  upon  the 
ground.  It  was  one  of  those  days  when  the  world  which 
has  sowed  and  reaped,  garnered  and  stored,  seems  to  listen 
for  the  voice  of  God. 

In  the  early  morning  the  busy  life  of  Tishomingo  was 
hushed,  for  in  the  Chickasaw  capital  there  were  few  who 
did  not  awaken  with  the  thought  that  before  night  fell  a 
life  would  be  taken  from  among  those  who  comprised 
the  Nation.  Some  there  were  who  marvelled  that  nature 
should  not  mourn.  A  grey  week  of  threatened  storm  sud- 
denly had  ended  in  a  burst  of  golden  sunshine  which  was 
reflected  in  ripple  and  eddy  of  Pennington  Creek  as  the 
stream  hurried  by  the  town. 

Far  above  Tishomingo  lay  a  little  park,  heavily  wooded. 
Here  Pennington  Creek  fell  over  a  wall  of  rock  and,  dizzily 
losing  itself  in  whirlpools,  hollowed  out  a  wide,  curved  basin 
before  it  went  on  to  find  the  distant  river.  It  was  in  this 
park,  a  tiny  valley  as  yet  untouched  by  the  hand  of  man,  that 
the  Chickasaw  Nation  gathered  to  await  the  coming  of 
Hattakowa. 

308 


SUNSET  309 

At  sunrise  fullbloods  and  halfbreeds  began  to  journey  to 
the  place  of  death,  and  by  noon  the  woodland  had  become 
the  camping  ground  of  many  hundred  Indians. 

Hattakowa  had  been  expected  to  return  to  the  Territory 
at  the  beginning  of  the  week,  but  he  had  sent  a  message  to 
Beaumont  announcing  his  detention  in  Washington.  This 
delay  gave  some  of  the  white  men  an  opportunity  to  declare 
that  there  would  be  no  execution,  and,  whenever  a  train  came 
into  Tishomingo,  a  curious  crowd  gathered  at  the  station. 

As  the  afternoon  shadows  began  to  lengthen,  Marchand 
rode  along  the  main  street  of  the  town.  He  had  been  doing 
many  last  errands  for  Hattakowa,  and  now,  as  he  turned 
into  the  street  leading  past  the  capitol,  he  stopped,  wheeled 
his  horse,  and,  uncovering  his  head,  looked  toward  Moma 
Binna.  He  had  thought  constantly  of  Pakali,  but  he  had 
refrained  from  intruding  upon  her.  With  a  dread  that  now 
and  then  unnerved  him  he  had  looked  forward  to  this  day, 
and  he  showed  upon  his  face  the  pallor  of  sleeplessness.  He 
had  written  many  letters  to  General  Chillingsworth,  whose 
aid  he  asked  in  whatever  device  could  be  suggested  for  the 
deliverance  of  Hattakowa.  Now  all  effort  would  be  un- 
availing; it  was  too  late  to  save  the  Indian  whom  he  had 
learned  to  love  as  a  man  loves  the  friend  stronger  than  him- 
self. 

While  with  uncovered  head  he  sat  in  the  saddle,  the  horse 
that  he  rode  fretted  at  the  bit.  The  animal  was  a  splendid 
mount,  a  favourite  with  Hattakowa,  who  called  him  Kanowa, 
The  Hunter.  "  Steady,  old  boy,  steady!  "  said  Marchand, 
speaking  the  words  in  a.  tone  which  lacked  a  reassuring  ring, 
for  the  Kentuckian,  more  than  the  horse  he  rode,  needed  a 
cheering  admonition.  No  Marchand  had  ever  lacked  the  fine 
courage  that  enabled  him  to  meet  bravely  whatever  life 
brought  him,  but  the  spirit  was  sometimes  stronger  than  the 
body.  Philip  Marchand's  flesh  crept  when  he  thought  of  the 
sunset  hour  in  which  Pakali  would  endure  the  ordeal  of 


3io  THE    MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

taking  part  in  the  ancient  death  ceremonies  of  the  Chicka- 
saws. 

Kanowa  threw  back  his  head,  and,  not  waiting  for  signal 
from  his  rider,  galloped  down  the  road.  The  Kentuckian 
let  him  have  his  way,  reluctantly  guiding  the  animal  toward 
the  park  where  the  Indians  were  assembling. 

As  Marchand  came  near  the  woodland  the  scene  that  met 
his  eyes  was  one  of  half  barbaric  picturesqueness.  It  was 
as  if  the  reversion  to  the  death  ceremony  had  recalled  many 
tribal  customs.  A  clearing  had  been  made  among  maple 
saplings  and  here  a  camp  fire  had  been  built.  Over  it 
swarthy-skinned  women  were  cooking.  One  of  them  had  on 
a  much-trimmed  hat  which  gave  an  incongruous  touch  to 
the  picture,  for  her  companions  wore  bright-coloured  woollen 
scarfs  upon  their  heads.  On  the  ground  sprawled  many 
small  children,  and  the  men,  smoking  solemnly,  sat  in  groups. 
The  bright  print  frocks  of  the  little  girls  and  the  gay  gowns 
of  the  halfbreed  women  gave  touches  of  colour  to  the  scene. 

Dismounting,  Marchand  tied  Kanowa  to  the  slender  trunk 
of  a  young  oak.  He  was  glad  to  have  reached  the  place  of 
death  early  so  that  he  might  have  time  in  which  to  borrow 
from  the  Indians  something  of  their  stoicism.  Finding  a  log 
upon  the  edge  of  the  creek  he  sat  there  listening  to  the  sound 
of  the  waters  and  watching  the  movements  of  the  Indians 
until  it  was  as  if  he  dreamed.  Long,  long  he  waited  until 
the  haze  of  the  afternoon  softened  the  light  in  the  woods 
and  made  the  grove  like  a  dim  cathedral. 

John  Oaktree  and  his  sons  came,  bringing  with  them 
women  and  children.  Then  the  two  Mattisons,  accompanied 
by  many  who  had  been  their  political  supporters,  arrived  in 
omnibuses.  The  growing  crowd  quickened  with  expectancy. 

The  Governor  of  the  Chickasaw  Nation  and  his  staff, 
forming  a  cavalcade  typical  of  the  official  duty  to  which  the 
Nation  had  pledged  itself,  rode  through  the  throng  of  In- 
dians, and,  slowly  circling  in  front  of  a  giant  tree  marked 


SUNSET  3" 

by  a  gorgeous  war  bonnet,  sharply  drew  the  line  indicating 
the  boundaries  of  the  place  of  death.  Remaining  in  their 
saddles  the  representatives  of  the  Indian  government  waited 
for  the  condemned  man. 

Judge  Maury  and  Ogden  Maury  walked  beneath  the 
maple  trees  on  the  edge  of  the  grove.  The  older  man's  usual 
air  of  self-sufficiency  had  disappeared.  Reaching  a  spot  a  lit- 
tle apart  from  the  Indians  the  Judge  leaned  against  the  trunk 
of  a  tree. 

At  last  it  was  known  in  the  throng  that  Pakali  had  reached 
the  place  of  death,  but  the  Indians  made  no  stir  of  curious 
scrutiny.  Before  her  walked  Governor  Sands  with  his 
family,  and  beside  her  limped  her  father,  bowed  upon  his 
cane.  She  held  Miko  by  the  hand,  and  the  child  had  ac- 
quired something  of  the  fortitude  which  made  his  mother 
appear  as  one  who  had  conquered  grief.  With  her  lips  firmly 
closed  and  her  eyes  fixed  in  the  level  gaze  which  sees  nothing, 
she  accompanied  Henry  Sands,  who  led  her  across  the  circle 
made  by  the  people  of  her  Nation.  Near  the  tree  upon  which 
the  feathers  of  the  war  bonnet  stirred  in  the  breeze,  Pakali, 
Beaumont,  and  Miko  met  all  who  could  claim  blood  relation- 
ship to  Hattakowa.  The  women  removed  their  hats,  and, 
presently,  Marchand,  gazing  from  a  distance,  beheld  Pakali 
endowed  with  an  alien  beauty.  Suffering  had  put  the  stamp 
of  a  chastened  maturity  upon  her  face;  the  light  of  youth 
had  gone  from  her  eyes,  in  which  glowed  a  sustaining  faith. 
Her  garments  were  the  colour  of  the  dead  brown  leaves, 
and  loosely  about  her  shoulders  she  wore  a  cloak,  long  and 
full. 

Now,  after  all  the  Nation  had  assembled,  the  moments 
dragged  by.  Silence  fell  upon  the  strange  gathering;  the 
falling  waters  of  Pennington  made  the  only  sound  which 
broke  the  oppressive  stillness. 

When  the  sun  was  but  an  hour  away  from  the  summit  of 
the  western  hills,  white  inhabitants  of  Tishomingo  who  ig- 


312  THE    MAN    OF    YESTERDAY 

nored  the  Indian  desire  to  escape  observation,  had  gathered 
in  such  numbers  that  members  of  the  Indian  police  were 
detailed  to  keep  curious  spectators  outside  the  grove.  These 
white  men,  now  sure  that  the  Indian's  pledge  was  as  little 
to  be  depended  upon  as  their  own,  made  new  bets  while  they 
lingered  in  the  hope  of  being  able  to  taunt  the  humiliated 
Chickasaws.  The  wind  died  down;  the  haze  deepened. 
Then,  while  Pakali,  watching  the  sun,  counted  the  moments 
still  remaining  in  her  kinsman's  life,  the  beat  of  a  horse's 
hoofs  was  heard  in  the  road,  and  Hattakowa,  driving  rapidly, 
passed  the  white  men,  who  stared,  and  then  cheered  as  they 
saw  him  hurry  on  to  his  death. 

At  the  edge  of  the  woodland  Hattakowa  lifted  his  mother 
from  the  light  carriage  in  which  they  had  driven  from  the 
station. 

"  Sa  minteh — I  have  come !  "  he  said,  turning  to  his  tribes- 
men. 

Beaumont  and  Henry  Sands  went  toward  him,  but  Mar- 
chand  reached  him  first.  Declining  proffers  of  help  Hatta- 
kowa looked  for  a  place  to  tie  his  horse,  and  his  eye  fell  upon 
Kanowa.  He  stroked  the  sleek  neck  of  the  animal  which  he 
had  petted  since  it  was  a  colt.  Then,  casting  his  glance 
around  the  circle  of  Indians  who  had  assembled  to  say  fare- 
well to  him,  he  made  his  way  toward  the  tree  on  which  hung 
the  war  bonnet.  Slowly  he  moved  among  his  friends,  often 
pausing  to  speak  to  one  for  whom  he  had  a  last  greeting. 

Mrs.  Dixon,  walking  with  erect  carriage,  followed  her 
son.  All  who  saw  her  knew  that  she  had  found  the  courage 
which  would  enable  her  to  bear,  without  a  sign  of  suffering, 
whatever  grief  she  felt.  Beaumont,  bowed  and  feeble,  went 
to  her,  and,  taking  her  arm,  drew  her  to  Pakali's  side. 

Heeding  the  sign  of  the  war  bonnet  Hattakowa  stepped 
to  the  tree  upon  which  it  hung.  He  had  passed  Pakali  as  if 
he  did  not  see  her,  but  now  his  eyes  sought  hers  and  he  knew 
that  she  had  come  to  this  place  of  death  believing  that  they 


SUNSET  313 

would  find  each  other  when  both  their  spirits  were  free. 
With  difficulty  he  shook  off  the  spell  of  her  presence.  Rais- 
ing his  head,  he  pushed  back  the  hair  which  fell  upon  his 
broad  forehead,  and  turned  to  scan  the  faces  of  the  Chicka- 
saws.  As  he  stood  there  in  the  splendid  strength  of  his 
mature  manhood  even  the  least  emotional  of  those  who  be- 
held him  felt  a  pang  of  regret  because  such  a  life  was  to  be 
surrendered  before  its  vigour  had  spent  itself. 

"  Oh,  Chickasaws,  my  brothers  and  sisters,  I  have  brought 
you  a  message  of  hope,"  said  Hattakowa,  speaking  in  a  quiet 
voice  which  carried  his  words  to  the  edge  of  the  throng. 
"  I  have  been  to  see  him  whom  our  people  once  called  the 
Great  White  Father  in  Washington.  To  him  I  carried  some 
of  our  troubles,  and  I  left  with  him  the  paper  which  long 
ago  the  wind  of  fate  put  into  my  hand — the  paper  setting 
forth  the  plans  of  some  of  the  white  race  whom  the  Choc- 
taws  call  '  Nahulla.'  I  told  the  President  that,  while  we 
Indians  remembered  the  wTords  of  an  American  statesman 
who  declared:  '  Congress  can  and  will  pass  any  bill  to  de- 
stroy the  Indians,'  we  still  held  the  hope  that  the  United 
States  Government  would  investigate  conditions  here  in  the 
Territory. 

"  It  was  long  before  I  could  get  the  ear  of  the  President, 
and  then  I  had  to  wait  several  days  before  I  could  ob- 
tain an  answer  to  my  plea  that  justice  might  be  dealt  out  to 
the  Five  Nations.  When  it  seemed  as  if  I  must  come  back 
to  you  bringing  word  that  my  mission  had  been  vain,  there 
came  from  the  White  House  an  assurance  that  one  who  bears 
the  name  of  a  world  conqueror  should  be  sent  here  to  report 
the  truth." 

From  the  crowd  rose  a  murmur  which  swelled  into  a 
shout  of  joy.  Hattakowa,  waiting  for  the  confusion  to  sub- 
side, forgot  all  else  except  that  Pakali  was  near  him.  Again 
he  looked  at  her,  and  again  her  eyes  gave  him  the  assurance 
that  her  soul  sought  his  in  a  final  understanding  which 


3H  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

concerned  itself  not  with  earth,  but  with  hope  of  life  beyond 
the  great  chasm  of  death. 

"  Since  I  am  going  away  from  you  to-day,"  Hattakowa 
said,  when  there  was  silence  once  again,  "  I  want  to  speak 
to  you  of  your  relation  to  the  civilised  world  of  which  you 
are  soon  to  become  a  part.  In  a  little  while  our  tribal  ex- 
istence will  be  but  a  memory.  Treasure  all  the  traditions 
of  our  people,  for  there  will  come  a  time  when  the  white 
man  will  change  his  estimate  of  the  Indian ;  there  will  be  a 
period  in  which  the  right  story  of  our  race  will  be  accepted, 
and  the  descendants  of  those  who  have  robbed  and  mistreated 
the  American  aborigines  will  blush  with  shame.  It  may  be 
that  the  youngest  of  you  will  be  old  before  the  time  of  our 
justification  comes,  for  no  deed  of  yours  can  hasten  it. 
Therefore,  I  would  counsel  you  to  conform  to  the  changes 
which  are  inevitable.  It  is  useless  to  fight  against  what  is 
called  progress ;  take  what  is  best  of  the  white  man's  civilisa- 
tion and  do  not  waste  strength  in  combating  powers  that 
must  conquer  you.  Become  good  citizens  of  the  United 
States,  and,  as  long  as  possible,  keep  in  your  possession  the 
few  acres  of  land  which  will  be  apportioned  to  you  from  the 
great  tract  that  was  pledged  to  us  forever — '  As  long  as 
water  runs,  and  grass  grows.'  ' 

While  Hattakowa  spoke  one  of  John  Oaktree's  sons  acted 
as  interpreter  to  the  fullbloods,  some  of  whom  shook  their 
heads  as  if  they  were  loath  to  accept  the  advice  falling  from 
Hattakowa's  lips. 

Standing  before  the  war  bonnet,  Hattakowa  faced  the 
west  and  he  saw  that  the  sun  was  near  the  horizon. 

"  It  is  time  for  me  to  say  farewell  to  you,"  he  announced 
in  steady  tones. 

A  hush  fell  upon  the  people,  and  Hattakowa,  passing 
around  the  circle,  touched  the  hands  of  the  old  men  and 
spoke  gentle  words  to  the  women  and  children.  Judge 
Maury  could  but  shake  his  head  as  he  uttered  a  last  protest 


"ONE   SOLEMN    MOMENT   THEY   STOOD   THERE,   FORGETTING  ALL   THE   WORLD" 

—Page  315 


SUNSET  315 

against  the  madnesss  which  had  caused  Hattakowa  to  decline 
legal  defence.  He  and  Ogden  sorrowfully  clasped  the  hand 
held  out  to  them.  Next,  with  words  of  advice  Hattakowa 
took  leave  of  his  kinsmen,  among  whom  were  fullbloods  that 
he  addressed  in  the  Chickasaw  and  Choctaw  tongues. 

Last  of  all  he  stood  before  his  mother  and  Pakali.  Beau- 
mont, leaning  upon  his  cane,  stepped  forward  to  whisper  that 
he  believed  the  Little  Mother  waited  to  greet  one  who  had 
been  as  Pakali's  brother  to  her. 

Mrs.  Dixon  put  her  arms  around  her  son's  neck  and  Hatta- 
kowa kissed  her  many  times,  telling  her  again  and  again  that 
she  must  not  mourn  for  him.  Then  he  reached  out  his  arms 
toward  Pakali,  who  gave  him  both  her  hands. 

"  It  is  not  farewell  to  you,  my  Star  Woman,"  he  said, 
"  for  my  spirit  often  will  be  near  you."  He  dropped  her 
hands  while  he  folded  Miko  to  his  breast. 

"  Little  Chieftain,  in  your  care  I  leave  your  mother,"  he 
said.  "  Watch  over  her,  and  never  be  Ahaikahno — The 
Careless  One." 

The  child  clung  to  Hattakowa,  promising  that  he  would 
try  to  be  a  brave  worthy  to  belong  to  the  Chickasaws. 

"  And,  although  you  go  often  into  the  forest,  neglect  not 
aiikhuma — the  place  of  learning,"  admonished  Hattakowa, 
kissing  the  boy's  red  lips. 

Again  Hattakowa  looked  into  Pakali's  eyes.  Once  more 
he  took  her  hands. 

"  I  carry  the  great  love  away  with  me,"  he  said.  "  It 
will  sustain  my  spirit,  and,  if  I  may  come  back  to  you,  it  may 
yet  bless  you  in  ways  we  cannot  foresee." 

"  I  can  never  be  worthy  of  the  great  love,"  softly  answered 
Pakali,  "  but  it  has  brought  me  light.  Whether  my  years 
be  many  or  few  it  will  be  as  a  torch  to  guide  me  while  I 
serve  our  people." 

He  pressed  her  hand  in  a  grip  so  strong  that  the  ruby  ring 
cut  into  her  palm.  One  solemn  moment  they  stood  there, 


3i6  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY] 

forgetting  all  the  world.  The  encircling  crowd  was  blotted 
out.  As  they  lingered  there  on  the  threshold  of  eternity, 
the  autumn  day  took  on  a  surpassing  glory,  belonging  not  to 
earth. 

"  I  know  you  have  forgiven  me  for  all  the  grief  I  have 
caused  you,"  said  Pakali,  with  a  little  quiver  of  the  lips, 
"  but  it  would  be  a  comfort  if  I  could  remember  some  as- 
surance given  in  this  final  hour." 

"  Dear,  my  heart  never  has  held  aught  but  love  for  you — 
the  great  love."  Hattakowa  faintly  smiled  upon  her  as  if 
he  would  have  her  understand  that  love  had  mingled  some 
joy  with  his  portion  of  bitterness. 

One  of  the  Chickasaw  officials  gave  a  low  signal.  The 
glory  faded  from  the  day.  The  faces  of  the  multitude  again 
became  visible  to  Hattakowa  and  Pakali.  Back  among  the 
trees  Hattakowa  saw  Marchand.  Beckoning  to  the  Ken- 
tuckian,  he  said: 

"  Until  the  night  comes,  watch  over  those  who  are  dear 
to  me."  He  did  not  touch  the  white  man's  hand;  it  was 
enough  that  he  should  give  to  him  a  precious  trust. 

Hattakowa  walked  back  to  the  big  tree,  and  now,  accord- 
ing to  the  custom  of  the  Chickasaws,  it  was  the  privilege  of 
his  mother  to  do  the  last  service  for  him.  A  cup  of  water 
was  dipped  from  Pennington  Creek.  Mrs.  Dixon  bore  this 
to  her  son.  Lifting  it  to  his  lips,  Hattakowa  uttered  the  old 
Choctaw  salutation :  "  Yak'oke,  sullitok  kia,  Ish  aya  ahke," 
which  means,  "  Thank  you,  though  I  die,  may  you  live  on." 

After  the  cup  had  been  given  back  to  the  bearer,  Hatta- 
kowa waited  while  the  women  and  the  children  and  the 
friends  of  faint  heart  went  away  from  the  place  of  death. 
Solemnly  and  noiselessly  the  awestricken  crowd  disappeared. 

Mrs.  Dixon,  Pakali,  Miko,  and  Beaumont  lingered  until 
only  the  men  of  the  Chickasaw  Nation  remained.  Hatta- 
kowa smiled  upon  his  loved  ones.  "  Sa  kullo — I  am  strong," 
he  said,  looking  across  the  little  space  which  separated  him 


SUNSET  317 

from  them.  Standing  before  the  war  bonnet,  his  arms  folded 
across  his  broad  chest,  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  little 
group.  Tenderly  he  glanced  at  his  mother,  who  once  or 
twice  took  a  step  forward  as  if  she  would  go  to  him,  but  she 
controlled  herself.  Pakali  stood  immovable  with  her  face 
turned  to  Hattakowa,  whose  soul,  purged  of  all  its  earth- 
born  rebellion,  had  begun  to  put  on  the  majesty  of  the  new 
estate  into  which  it  was  to  enter. 

The  last  moment  of  respite  came.  Beaumont  put  his  arm 
around  Mrs.  Dixon,  and,  moving  with  the  help  of  his  cane, 
walked  beside  her  toward  the  dusty  road.  Pakali  and  Miko 
followed  them,  but,  when  they  had  reached  the  centre  of  the 
circle,  which  they  had  to  cross,  Pakali  stopped  to  look  back 
at  Hattakowa.  As  if  he  had  been  told  to  carry  a  last  fare- 
well from  his  mother,  Miko  ran  back  to  embrace  The  Man 
Looking  for  the  Sun. 

Marchand  went  around  the  outside  of  the  Chickasaw  cir- 
cle to  meet  Pakali.  When  he  would  have  opened  the  door 
of  the  carriage  waiting  for  the  sorrowful  party,  Mrs.  Dixon 
said: 

"  No,  no.  We  will  go  down  by  the  edge  of  the  creek 
where  the  waters  will  drown  the  sound  I  dare  not  hear.  I 
want  to  be  close  to  my  son  until  the  end." 

So  they  found  a  place  where,  above  the  drooping  willows, 
they  could  see  the  changing  colour  in  the  sky,  and  there,  with 
his  rugged  face  uplifted  to  Heaven,  Beaumont  prayed  while 
Pakali  and  Miko  knelt  at  the  feet  of  Mrs.  Dixon.  A  few 
yards  away  Marchand  watched  for  the  sunset. 

Hattakowa  saw  his  Star  Woman  disappear  and  then  he 
felt  impatient  for  his  day  to  end.  In  conformity  with  the 
old  custom  it  had  been  his  privilege  to  select  his  best  friend 
as  his  executioner,  and  upon  Henry  Sands  had  fallen  his 
choice.  The  Governor  of  the  Chickasaws  put  a  rifle  into  the 
hands  of  the  old  Indian.  This  was  the  signal  for  the  con- 
demned man  to  take  off  his  coat,  underneath  which  he  wore 


3i8  THE   MAN   OF   YESTERDAY 

t 

a  black  silk  shirt.  Upon  his  breast,  on  the  place  over  his 
heart,  one  of  John  Oaktree's  sons  helped  him  to  pin  a  square 
of  white  paper.  Twenty  paces  from  the  war  bonnet  were 
measured  off,  and  then  Sands  was  summoned  from  the  edge 
of  the  circle. 

The  old  Indian  went  forward,  but  when  he  looked  into 
Hattakowa's  face,  upon  which  shone  the  light  of  an  immortal 
passion,  Sands  shook  as  an  aspen  swayed  in  a  spring  gale. 
Hattakowa  stretched  out  his  arms  so  that  he  might  present 
the  heart  which  throbbed  with  the  great  love  for  Pakali  as 
a.  target  for  the  executioner's  shot.  On  his  finger  shone  the 
ruby  he  dared  not  bestow  upon  any  for  whom  he  had  a  tender 
care  since  it  brought  ill-luck  in  love  to  all  who  owned  it. 

"  One — two — three !  "  counted  the  Governor  of  the 
Chickasaws.  Sands  lifted  the  rifle  to  his  shoulder.  "  Four 
— five!"  spoke  the  Governor,  but  the  old  Indian,  stagger- 
ing from  the  circle,  cried  out: 

"  I  cannot  be  the  instrument  of  the  law !  " 

John  Oaktree,  who  understood  the  action  but  not  the 
words,  stepped  forward. 

"  Omih,  omih ! — Very  well,  very  well !  "  he  exclaimed  in 
the  Chickasaw  tongue.  "  I  am  the  descendant  of  Tush- 
Kaa-Pela — The  Warrior  Helper.  I  am  old,  and,  if  the 
memory  of  this  day  hurts  me,  it  will  not  last  long." 

The  sky  took  on  the  golden  hue  of  the  sunset,  and  the 
brown  woods  were  illuminated  by  the  magic  light.  Again 
Hattakowa  raised  his  hands.  Lifting  his  head  so  that  he 
could  gaze  beyond  the  place  where  the  crowd  had  closed 
around  Pakali,  he  gave  his  last  thought  to  his  Star  Woman. 


THE  END 


VIVID. 


1ELT  THRILL  AS 

CHIEF  SPOKE. 


NROVIA  MAN  REMEMBERS  RED 
CLOUD'S    SPEECH. 


eclarcs  the  Indian's  Appeal  for 
.istice  Was  One  of  the  Most  Elo- 
jent  Word  Portrayals  He  Ever 
card — Vaccinated  Children  of  the 
oted  Warrior. 


[OXROVIA,  Dec.  11.— For  at  least 
>  Monrovians,  Dr.  and  Mrs.  J.  W. 
the  news  of  Chief  Red 
ud's  passing-  at  the  Pine  Ridge  j 
5ncy  ouickens  memories  of  nearly 
1'  a  century  ago  when  he  was  in  his 
me  and  the  rising-  leader  of  a  horde 
savage  warriors. 

i    1864    Dr.    La    Force,     accompanied 
his  wife,  served  as  post  surgeon  for 

Seventh  Iowa  Cavalry,  stationed  at 
•t  McPherson  to  guard  the  overland 
il  from  Indian  depredations.  The 
t  was  built  at  Cottr.nwood  Springs, 

old  frontier  trading  post  on  the 
tte  River.  Karly  in  1864  Chief  Red 
ud  and  a  small  party  of  subchief« 
war  paint  called  at  the  fort  to  pow- 
\v  with  Ma.i.  O'Brien,  commanding 
cer.  in  regard  to  trcr.ty  violations 
1  the  invasion  of  Sioux  hunting 
lum.ls  by  the  whites, 
'he  impassioned  remonstrance  of 
lef  Red  Cloud  is  often  referred  to 

Dr.  La  Force  as  one  of  the  most 
quent  and  stirring  apptals  for  jus- 
?  and  one  of  the  mo.st  vivid  word 
•trayals  he  heard,  Un- 

tunately,  no  re:  ord  \vas  kept  of  this 
narkable  address  which  made  a  pio- 
ind  impression  upon  the  white  men. 
?aking  of  the  violation  of  the  terri- 
ial  treaty  Red  Cloud  said:  "We  go 
the  South  for  buffalo:  the  white  man 
there.  We  go  to  the  North  for  elk; 
•  white  man  is  there.  The  land  is 
pty  and  my  people  star', 
n  July  of  the  same  year  Red  Cloud 
c!  the  Brule-Sioux  migrated  north- 
id.  11-  was  already  dominant  anving 
:  tribesmen  and  hi*  war  parties 


-nail     party 

'  stopped    at    Fort    McPherson    where   he 
!  sought  out  Dr.  La  Force  and  requ 
him    to    \ 

Clouds.        He    himself     had 
llpox     '-•il    :  "'-"d,   and  <! 

need    the     vliite   man's  medicine. 

Whiic   the   so  '!•<'    Of   his  chil- 

!  dren   were   gathered    in   the   dispensary 
'  for    treatment,    he    waited    outside    im- 
passively,   refusing    even    to    dismount. 
The    young    savages     intent     upon     the 
novelties   of    tl  lain«d 

to  notice  the  prick  of  the  \ 
cet   and    acted    as    if   vaccination    were 
an  e very-day  occurrenc  after- 

ward   when    the    two    men    p.vt    again. 

Red  Cloud  remembered  the  arrm 
geon,   who  was  nearly  of  his  ow -; 
and   spoke   of   long   vanished   Fort   Mc- 
Pherson. 

On   his  second   visit  to  the   fort, 
C'oud    was   accompanied   by    a    nu 
of  warriors  who  had  evidently  j;: 
turned    from    a    foray.        Fresh     scalp* 
dangled  at  their  spear  heads  and  they 
were    laden    with    plunder.     An    Omaha 
Indian,  serving  in  the  Seventh  Cavalrj 
rode    out    to    interview    them    and    re- 
ported   on    his    return    that    one    scalp 
was  that  of   a   white  woman. 
A'An    interesting     glimpse     of      Indian 
traits    and    customs    is   afforded    by   an 
incident  related  by  Mrs.  La  Force.  Red 
Cloud,   several    squaws,    many  children 
and    a   few    warriors    camped     on     the 
Platte  about  four  miles  fiom  the  fort. 
The  next  day  or  so  an   Indian,  st 
about  the  fort  and  casually,  as  it  were, 
ami    with    no    appearance    of    interest, 
said    he    was    a    Kiowa    who    had    been 
captured    by    Red    f'oud's    braves    and 
condemned    to    be  'shot    next    morning 
as  a  spy.     He  was  on  parole,  getting  a 
look   at  the  fort   before   he   started    for 
the  Happy  Hunting  Grounds.      Se 
of  the  soldiers  doubting  his  story  went 
to    Red    Cloud's     camp    at     the      hour 
named  by  the  Kiowa  as  his  last.     They 
found   him   chanting  his  death   «?>n.a:  at 
the  head  of  a  shallow  trench  and  when 
he  had   finished      a    shot  rang  out    and 
he  tumbled  headlong  into  his  grave." 


A     000  071  281     0 


